


On the High Seas.

by Meowzalot



Series: Plundering Hearts. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Male Slash, Nightmares, Pirate AU, that will change though, will add tags as they happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 78,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowzalot/pseuds/Meowzalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate Johnlock AU. Sherlock is a pirate captain. He overtakes the ship John was on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Journey Interrupted.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta-ed or anything. More like a preview/taste of an idea. If there's enough want for it I'll happily re-do/fix the first chapter and continue on with the story. There will be Mystrade if/when I get to a certain point.
> 
> Comments saying what you'd like changed, added, etc. Because I am a perv the rating would easily shoot up to 'E'(Hint: Not 'EVERYONE').  
> Or even just comments saying if you'd like me to continue this. Please and thank you.

The ache was never ending these days. Where once the rolling waves bouncing a ship had brought comfort and ease it made his pain only worse. John Watson had never thought himself an unlucky man, nor really a lucky man. Things had been well for him in life.

His shoulder gave a painful throb as if to yank him away from pleasant day dreams of the past. Yanked back into bitter reality he gave a sigh, rubbing his shoulder carefully until footsteps creaked behind him. “Captain.” He said simply, not bothering to look over at the silver haired figure who laughed openly at the title. A friendly hand was at his good shoulder for a second, squeezing carefully.

“Just came to check on how the journey was treating you so far.”

Greg Lestrade had been a long time service mate. They’d served together on countless ships, fought together when John wasn’t tending to another poor bastard, and John was thankful for the man. He truly was. How could he explain the sheer shame that knotted itself painfully in the pit of his stomach?

Captain John Watson brought low by one clumsy move. Now his left shoulder was scarring along nicely, and this limp and shake. How could he be a doctor when they made port in England?

“It’s great. Fresh sea air. Feels a little strange not to be yelled at by the captain whenever I just stand here.” John chuckled, grinning at Greg.

“You’re a guest on the ship this time around. Returning home a war hero. If you’ll excuse me now. .OI! Stop lollygagging and get back to work!”

Always a treat to watch Greg go from warm to stormy eyed. Poor blokes that were under him.

Chuckling softly he looked back to the water, ignoring the pain that had nothing to do with his shoulder now. Returning home as a war hero. A doctor who had risked his life to save others. Gripping the top of his cane tightly John took in a shuddering breath, turning from the dark waves and going to his room.

The ship was mainly for transport. Beneath the carefully mopped deck were treasures from the war, and other things John technically shouldn’t know about. To disguise it further there were nobles who thought they were on a simple trip back to England.

Back to England. Back home. Back to. . god he couldn’t even think about it without his hand shaking painfully. The idea of finding a wife, starting a family, eased the worry but what did he have to offer? It had been through generous means that he’d even attended medical school, and what family money there was wouldn’t be enough for both him and Harriet.

By the time John had managed to find peace enough to try and sleep he’d almost thrown up what little food he’d tried to eat that day.

The first thing to wake him was a high pitched scream. John wanted to dismiss it as another nightmare but loud scuffling had his body moving before his mind could even finish waking up. He came to holding both a cane and a knife, half naked body already going for the door to join into whatever was happening on deck.

John went still at someone moving from behind the door. Pirates? How had they managed to slip up on the ship like this? Sending out a silent prayer for Greg he stood on the other side of the door, letting whomever open and sneak inside. Now he could clearly hear the screaming, the bangs of muskets. There was even the familiar mix of blood and gun powder lingering in the air.

The men who stepped into the room looked like pirates. He couldn’t see their faces but he could just picture the rotten rows of teeth. Their laughter was cocky, movements unhurried. Things weren’t going well for his side out there from the looks of it.

Years of training took over as he darted up to the pirates, barely making a sound as both bodies fell. Breathing heavily John knelt to wipe the blood off with one of the mens shirts, eyes glued to the open door. How many were out there?

Without a second thought he grabbed the flintlock hanging from one of the dead men, rushing out with a shirt hanging loosely around his shoulders.  
A few bodies littered the deck but he only checked each long enough to make sure they were dead. If the puddles of blood weren’t a giveaway.

Greg. Where was Greg? The sight of a large body with silver hair sent a shiver through him as he knelt down, rolling it over. The distraction was enough for someone to sneak up on him, a sharp blow sending him into a painful blackout.

 

“John. John!”

“Lestrade? Greg? Oh thank God.” John breathed through the pain in his head. “Don’t try to move too much. One of those bastards got you good.” Greg said in a growling voice.  
So the pirates thing had really happened? Opening his eyes slowly John realized his hands were tied up with him laid out on the deck with his friend next to him. The crew left alive were kept kneeling, and the richly dressed nobles in their nightclothes were in a huddled mess in the center of it all.

One of them, a Lady Sarah if he was correct, stood to rush over to him. “I just want to make sure he’s okay! Please!” She begged, flinching when one of the pirates grabbed her arm. “Oi! Don’t touch her, you bloody rat!” John threatened like he wasn’t tied up on the floor of the ship. “Poor little love birds.” He spat, letting the woman go to the cripple.  
“John, are you okay?” She asked softly, helping him sit up. Over the last few days there had been obvious. . signs of affection. The gentle hand on his forehead was welcome but the sweet gaze was still awkward. “I don’t really think I’m who you should be worrying about right now, my lady.” John tried to smile, letting her pet him like some sort of cat.  
“Back to the group, miss. Cap’n should be coming aboard soon.” The rough hand tore a scream from the womans throat, and John lashed out with an untied foot to send the man tumbling over.

The commotion of threatening voices was broken only by a simple cough. Right away the pirate threatening John pulled back, tanned face growing pale as everyone looked over.  
Nothing about this man said ‘pirate’ but it did say ‘I am in charge and you will listen to me’. Sarah sniffled at his side, both hovering protectively and trying to hide behind him. “Madam, surely you have noticed his complete lack of interest. You’re trying to play the role of a protective lover but he keeps shrugging away from your every touch.”  
Dark curls twirled around a sharp face that was all unforgiving angles. John had never seen a face like it before. It almost distracted from the harsh words but he tensed as Sarah flinched, grip growing tighter at his shoulder. “Go back to the group, my lady. We don’t want to risk anything.” John whispered to her, trying not to look away guiltily.

“I’m Captain G-“

“Captain Greg Lestrade. Your. . superiors really should have thought this plan through better. Trying to sneak treasure under the pretense of a simple passenger ship?” then tone oozed contempt, silver blue eyes narrowing as the cupid bow mouth turned into a smirk. “Others might have been fooled by the ships used to draw attention away from this one but you were a dead giveaway. So very very obvious. I am Captain Sherlock Holmes.”

The name ‘Holmes’ was blood chillingly familiar. When it came to pirates the Holmes brothers were some of the most successful. The tall man stepping around blood stained wood fit the image that John had always pictured actually.

“You have the treasure then. That lot over there has nothing to do with this.” Greg murmured, licking his lips slowly.

Sherlock glanced at the nobles with a bored expression before glancing down at John. “Not from money. Ex-solider. Wound to the left shoulder. .” Sherlock was now kneeling in front of him, eating him alive with those eyes. “A doctor as well. Interesting.”

“Bring the women aboard, as well as Captain Lestrade and this doctor.” Sherlock ordered as he stood. “I normally wouldn’t consider taking ransom targets but it’s a hefty amount I could get for the lot of you.” He explained.

 

John wanted to fight. Everything inside him screamed to fight against this until he was dead or too wounded to keep going. It was the worry over the women that kept him calm. He’d never heard rumors of the Holmes brothers promoting the less savory acts of taking a vessel captive but pirates were pirates.

It was merely three women, all sisters. No doubt being carted to England in hopes of making a fine marriage. Fan-bloody-tastic!

“John, you alright? You keep looking like you might faint.” Greg whispered when they were shoved into a cell right next to the women. Expensive items were still being piled up, the captives forgotten since they were locked away safely. “Ya. One of those bastards just got me in the back of the head. I’m good though. Lived through far worse.” John chuckled confidently.

It was obvious when the pirate ship started to drift away from theirs. Left with a skeleton crew it would make port to report the attack, and the demands of ransom. Someone would most likely offer ransom for Greg, but what of a broken doctor? Harry wouldn’t be able to afford a decent ransom. Even if she gave over the whole lot of what their parents had left behind, and he wasn’t worth leaving both of them destitute.

Sagging back against the cell wall John wished he could just have something for his head. He could hear Greg trying to calm the others down, even Lady Sarah was doing a fair job of it. He could hear the small tremble of her voice but it didn’t break, something he had to admire about the beautiful woman. “The Holmes brothers are known for returning their captives in one piece after the ransom has been paid. Your families will pay quickly and heavily, not wanting to drag it out. You’ll be safe.” John added as icing to the verbal cake Greg was spewing but it was true none the less.

Greg was safe as well.

Him? John tried not to think about it again.

Unsure of the lapsed time John felt himself start to drift off, wrists raw from trying to weaken the rough textured rope. It was Gregs voice that brought him awake, and the pirate returning threat for threat. “The captain wants to see him! It’s none of your damn concern, ‘captain’.” The way it was said clearly gave the impression Greg wasn’t well known by this particular man.

“The captain wants to see me? For what? I’m not the captain of the ship he took.” John said, tensing when the man shrugged. “I don’t question Captain Holmes, if you’re smart you won’t either.”

So, with that he struggled to his feet and was led to a private cabin that both fascinated and disturbed him. Charts littered the tables, the floors, and the books were everywhere! The only bed looked ruffled but hardly used.

“Sit and wait. Don’t try anything funny.”

“What am I going to do with my hands tied like this?! Jump out the bloody window?” John snapped at the already shut door. At least he didn’t have to wait long. It was still pitch black outside but he was buzzing with energy, only made worse when Sherlock Holmes stepped into the cabin.

The few lanterns gave him an unearthly appearance. John wasn’t a simple man but he almost wanted to say Sherlock wasn’t of this world. He looked. . it was hard to say. Beautiful didn’t seem right for a man, and he was more than that.

Slowly the full lips curled into a smirk, as if hearing every confused thought. “I’m not the captain of the vessel you took over. I have no power.” John said bitterly, tensing as the pirate captain took careful steps towards him. “Not through rank but Captain Lestrade heavily respects you, trusts you, but this isn’t about that. One of my men gave you a blow to the head, correct?”

The question sounded a little random. Why would he care? “Ah, yes.” John finally answered, pulling back in the chair when Sherlock pulled out a knife. “Oh do relax. I know you won’t try to escape because it puts everyone below deck at risk, and you’re one of those noble types. The protective air about you whenever one of my men so much as looked at one of those women was so obvious but it’s towards all of them, not just one. Which suggests you aren’t carrying on a relationship with any of them.” Sherlock rambled, cutting the rope quickly before stepping back.

“How did you know I was a doctor?” John asked, rubbing at his wrists carefully.

“Your eyes were looking for a weakness in my men, and myself, but lingering in spots only a person with medical training would have thought of.”  
It was a bad time to be impressed but John couldn’t help it. “That’s actually brilliant.”

That seemingly caught the captain off guard as he frowned slightly, searching Johns face. “Your name?”

“John Watson. Why did you have me brought here?” He asked, rolling his shoulder.

“A dead captive brings in nothing. Not to mention it breeds distrust in those we ask for ransom. You took a blow to the head.” Sherlock explained, moving behind him. The fingers were untrained as they searched over the spot for any sign other than an impressive knot forming. “It’s fine. No lingering issues that I can tell. Your concern is noted.” John winced, brushing the fingers away from his head.

“Also, if you would be so kind as to reassure the others that they won’t be harmed.”

“Unless they try something stupid, right?”

“I thought your lot was smart enough that that went without saying.” Sherlock murmured, taking a seat at the desk covered with charts and books. Was that it? It just felt strange for the captain of a damned pirate ship to untie him and just. . leave him.

Standing slowly John rolled out his shoulder, refusing to wince when a few careful steps showed how stiff his leg was.

“It’s all in your mind.”

“Beg pardon?”

“That limp you appear to have. It’s all in your head.”

John stood there just watching the man, utterly captivated by someone who was unlike anyone he’d ever met. “What happens to those who won’t have a ransom paid for them?” He found himself asking, meeting the eyes that glanced over for a heartbeat.

“Truly that is none of my concern. I am not the one who handles the ransoms, or captives. Still, need you really ask? Judging by the look on your face you already know. What are you hoping to hear? That we’re honorable enough to let all of you go without payment? You didn’t appear to be quite that stupid, how disappointing.” With that Sherlock turned back to the desk, not even having to verbally say he was dismissing him.

“Bloody amazing but you’re likely to get your throat cut with that attitude.” John blurted out, smirking when Captain Holmes looked at him in shock.

Their silence carried over into shared smirks before both were laughing. “I am used to only part of that mindset being wished on me. My crew has been ordered to bring blankets to all of you, and other supplies in the morning.” Sherlock added.

 

Greg didn’t seem ready to believe anything Holmes had told John. The man looked ten years older as he sat there worrying, biting at his thumb while deep in thought. John, on the other hand, tried to appear more relaxed while eating at the hard rolls they’d tossed in.

“You know the stories as well as I do, Greg. The Holmes brothers are pirates with enough sense to know risking the life of their captives is risky. Just eat, keep your strength up.” He said, tossing over the food. Each of them ate in silence, Lady Sarah having given up on conversation as she tried to remain hidden from Johns view.

They were all sore from sleeping on the hard floors, and they all looked it. It was kind of amusing to think she might be embarrassed about her state of dress, and lack of make-up but he didn’t dare bring it up. No reason to embarrass the poor woman further.

It was around mid-day when a man with a rounded belly came to talk. “We took a heavy hit yesterday. Until we reach port and replace the crew lost the Captain says you both need to work on deck.” He explained, shrugging.

“How do we know one of your crew won’t sneak down here when we’re not here?” John asked quickly. “The threat of Captain Holmes is far more fearful than anything men locked in a different cell could conjure. One of you can work in the galley with me, the other on deck.”

John looked over at Greg, licking his lips. “I’ll work on deck.” He offered, tensing when Gregs eyes flittered to his shoulder for a heart-beat but, bless the man, he didn’t question it. 

 

Pirate ship or not it was a beautiful vessel. Carefully taken care of, and it felt much like any other ship when you were one of the nameless faces working to keep it clean.  
John wiped at his forehead again, smudging dirt and wincing when he caught sight of the dried blood on his sleeve. Just a short time and maybe there would be a bath, or at least a bucket of water. And not the dirty water from the mop bucket that splashed on him a few times.

Soon enough the shirt was plastered to him with water and sweat but it was just another part of working on deck. He wouldn’t dare take off his shirt for worry of painful sunburn; he’d seen blisters form that had made even his stomach roll because of exposure to sun. Everything hurt but it felt great actually. This was something he knew how to do. He’d worked his ass off on decks before, working until he was ready to fall overboard from sheer fatigue but he relished it now.

Offered a sip of water from a bucket they were passing around John paused long enough to drink down a large spoonful, catching eyes of the Captain who stood to the side of the large wheel. Their eyes met now, lingering until one of the crew shoved John roughly and took the bucket for his own drink of water.  
“Excuse you.” John snapped before looking back towards Sherlock but the curly haired captain was gone. Very very strange man.


	2. What happens now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I still might re-do Chapters 1 and 2. I just had a little idea to add in the Mystrade(Mycroft/Greg) and wanted to 'test drive' it. So I quickly typed this up. Make sense? So this is more like a beta version(again). Sorry sorry sorry! Truly and utterly, darlin's. 
> 
> Please, if it doesn't take up too much of your time give it a look over and tell me what you think. Because what you have to say will completely influence how I keep writing this, through story and style. So input would be just the perfect thing.

The first few days left John feeling tired and sore. Greg offered softly to be on deck while John worked with Angelo in the galley. It was a kind offer but it left the ex-fighter feeling worse than the hard work. He wasn’t some cripple that needed to be pampered! He was a man who had earned everything in his life.

With a tight smile that felt fake John shook his head at the offer, wishing that it was never brought up again. “Nothing I can’t handle, right?” He chuckled softly, ignoring the desire to reach up and rub his sore shoulder.

After a point the crew didn’t bother him much. There were a few that were obviously watching him, no doubt making sure the captive wasn’t going to start trouble but they never did anything to him. For the most part it was as if he were just another part of the crew rambling around trying to get chores done. It was one of those sun blazing days when he allowed himself to take a breather, leaning against a wall for half a second before gentle music pricked his ears.

No one else so much as reacted, giving John the impression that he was finally having a reaction from the sun. Well, if that was the case it wasn’t nearly as horrible as it could have been. Without a thought he followed the sound, ending up outside what he remembered to be the captains door.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” it was pure instinct that had the crew member on the floor before he could finish spinning John around.

Breathing heavily John looked down at the pirate he had pinned, taking a sick pleasure in the mans yelp of pain as he twisted the arm up further. The little spectacle drew the attention of pretty much everyone on deck. He scanned the gathering crowd to look for any means of escape, hopefully one that wasn’t just him leaping overboard to his death.  
Backing away from the man with what was barely more than a sprained elbow he felt his back connect with something very solid, and very much not wood. Without even having to guess he turned to face the Captain. His eyes blazed with defiance, jaw set in a hard line that didn’t mirror Sherlocks amused expression.

As soon as the expression softened it grew hard again, silver eyes darting up to the crew before barking out orders for them to get back to work. They scattered like startled kittens, even the man John had pinned struggled to get away as quickly as possible when Sherlock pulled John into the cabin.

John felt his spine stiffen, hands balled tightly at his sides. “You have certainly kept my ship from being boring.” Sherlock sounded almost happy as he strolled through the cabin with ease. Following the mans lazy movements he finally saw the violin, which confused more than answered.  
“You were the one playing that music?” John blurted.

If Sherlock was offended by the stunned comment he barely reacted, only going over to stroke the smooth wood. It looked more like a man touching a lover than a mere instrument. Images flashed across his mind for a second, leaving John a mental mess as he tried to school his face into nothing. God save him if Sherlock even caught a hint of what crossed his mind.

Thankfully the captain appeared more interested in scooping the violin back into his hands, packing it into a lined case. With that taken care of Sherlock finally turned full attention back to John, and the captive wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“My men are frustrated enough with the extra work from losing so many shipmates. They see you as an outlet to be angry towards. Provoking them further would hardly be the smart thing to do.”

“I won’t apologize for defending myself. Now or then.” John said calmly, meeting the others gaze easily. He expected many reactions, none of which being good for him, but the Captain of the men he killed just laughing wasn’t something he expected.

The tension broken John joined in on the laughter, feeling a little crazy. “You’ve killed before.” Sherlock said, gaze calculating. John felt a tad more weary. “You’re an interesting man, John. It’s very rare when I think that of a person.”

 

Sherlock knew he could read people. Their secrets. Just about everything about them. Some fools would claim it was a gift from the Devil himself. How else could a mortal man read minds like that?

Of course it wasn’t him reading minds. People tended to give everything away in their mannerisms but so few observed, only seeing it as thoughtless movements of habit. He saw beyond that. People tended to be predictable and painfully boring after a point.

This Doctor John Watson was different. The promised threat behind those fiery blue eyes was so tempting. He loathed finding himself finding interest in another person. It was pointless, dull. Everyone grew boring sooner or later. Everyone was a puzzle that became far too easy to solve but John, again, was proving himself quite different.

“The women have been urging you to petition for them a means of washing, haven’t they? Nobles tend to complain after a point but you haven’t let them say anything, nor has your captain. Not sure of what I might ask of you.” He murmured, taking a small bit of pride in how John looked at him with both confusion and amazement. “Merely a guess but a correct one if your reaction is to be believed.”

They had at least another day or two before reaching a port they would rest at. After that they would sail to the island Mycroft set aside for them to store ransom targets until the money was paid. Truth be told it was nothing more than a giant ‘village’ port. Natives kept to their own side, and pirates to the other.

The port housed the more typical whore houses, and other business establishments that could be set up. Further in were the living courters for any family a pirate could make. Mycroft ran everything so smoothly none of those little ants could dream up they were actually being controlled. If he didn’t despise his brother to such a degree Sherlock would be the first to nod his head in praise.

Once they reached the island the fate of those laced up ladies of mean, Lestrade, and John would be out of his hands. Normally Sherlock was pleased to be done with this process but no one was going to be paying for John. The man didn’t come from money, there was a chance no one was even waiting for him back in England. That should be Mycrofts problem, not his.

Forcing out a bored sigh he glanced towards the door. “One bucket a piece for washing. That will be it until we reach port. Go.”

The look on the others face was a tad bit amusing, if predictable. Suddenly the stormy blue eyes went cold, jaw twitching as his spine stiffened. “In exchange for what?”  
Interesting.

“Beg pardon?” He chuckled softly, lifting a hand to muffle his smirk behind the back of his hand.

“What do you want in exchange for letting any of us wash? There has to be something.” John demanded, unknowingly taking a step back as Sherlock took one towards him.  
“Frankly, I don’t need to give you reasons for anything I decide. Most would grovel in gratitude but not you, hm?” Sherlock watched the words spin through that dusty blonde head. There was more he wanted to say but John merely nodded his head, biting them back.

A kind hearted doctor with a temper. There was a small temptation to push him further, to the point where the good doctor snapped just a bit. Maybe he wouldn’t be so easy to break.

With a person like John Watson it was actually hard to know which way that would go. Truly entertaining indeed!

 

John wasn’t sure if he could trust Holmes or not. Experience and knowledge of pirates pointed to ‘Do NOT trust that bastard’ but he also didn’t want to waste any time wondering what Sherlock might want in return for allowing each of them water to bathe with. Maybe he would merely add it into the ransom, instead of taking payment out on one of them.  
Please not let that be the price. Greg looked concerned when John was brought back down escorted by two of the deckhands, and more following. The concern turned to confusion to find buckets of clean water placed in their cramped quarters. The ladies were already trying to wash as modestly as possible, refusing to even consider the thought of losing their clothes.

“Mate, how did you manage this?” Greg whispered when the women were too busy to pay attention. They might not have seen this as the gesture it was but this was more than a little decent for a pirate to offer. Clean water, one bucket per captive. The silver haired man wasn’t stupid, and neither was John. “He guessed that the ladies wanted some form of bathing. He didn’t ask for anything, Greg.” John said honestly.

That answer hardly seemed to appease the man, judging by the firm set of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean he won’t ask for something sooner or later.”

John didn’t notice the sharp pain of biting the inside of his cheek. “I might be a sorry excuse for a doctor now but I am not an idiot!” He hissed softly, nails digging into his palms. “I-I didn’t mean it like that, John. You know I have nothing but the highest respect for you.”

The sincerity cooled the mounting temper he felt working its way up. “I know. I just. . this isn’t exactly what I expected to happen. You must feel the same way then, aye?” John tried to laugh but his throat felt tight.

A desire to be somewhat clean killed off the rest of their conversation, which was most likely a good thing. Lady Sarah was doing wonderfully at keeping the others hopeful and content but John didn’t want to give any of them anything to worry about. They’d be paid for soon, and send on their way back home. Greg would most likely be with them.  
John cupped water to rub it over his face, unable to bite back a groan that had the ladies giggling teasingly at his expense.

Unable to help himself he turned a grin their way, feeling like the old John Watson that could charm almost anyone to swoon. His pride was stroked somewhat when Lady Sarah, and the others, each blushed and looked away with shy smiles.

“Really, John!” Greg tried to scold but it was ruined by the soft chuckle that turned into a contagious laugh they all joined in on. For a brief moment it was easy to pretend but the illusion lasted not long enough.

“If you ladies would please avert your eyes.” John suggested, gesturing to the stained shirt clinging to him in places.

It was far from perfect but none of them dared complain about it.

That night John couldn’t find a comfortable spot that didn’t send pains shooting throughout his body. Propped up against the ship he looked at the others, sighing softly.

“John?”

“Oh, Lady Swayer, sorry if I woke you.” He whispered, flushing when she took spot on the other side of the bars next to him.

“Please, it’s just ‘Sarah’. I feel after all this mess we’re past social conventions.” She replied with a kind smile, reaching through the bars to touch his hand. “You really worry over all of us, don’t you?” She asked softly.

Things hadn’t changed from the last time she’d touched him but under the circumstances John didn’t see any harm in taking her hand. “You give me too much credit, Sarah. It’s only human to show concern, wouldn’t you think?” He tried to ignore how her face bloomed into a blush as their fingers linked together. Her hand felt soft within his own, delicate.

“You are an amazing man, John Watson. If we should live through this I would be most honored if yo-“

“Lady Sarah, you have proven yourself to be a strong person and I will not have you using the term ‘if you. All of you will live through this, and you will reach England where you will be accepted as being strong enough to keep your family together.” John cut off whatever invitation she was about to make, not wanting to think about that. He held her hand tighter, wishing he could see Harry now. Despite their lack of seeing eye-to-eye he wanted to see the hot-tempered Watson more than anything. “You are as strong as you are beautiful. There is no doubt in my mind you will thrive when you get sent home.”

“John. .” Her voice was thick, fingers squeezing his hand tightly.

John wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence but when he finally dozed off it was after Sarah had curled up with one of her sisters for warmth. Lady Sarah wouldn’t be a bad match but she deserved better. Not only was he nothing more than a broken toy but he couldn’t honestly return the warmth she gave through every look.

# XxXxX

Until they landed there was no contact between him and Captain Holmes. Which was a blessing and curse. They were given extra rations, more bathing water, things that a normal captive just shouldn’t have. What would be their price?

The day their ship pulled into port the day was more gray than sun. John felt his nose twitch at the heavy scent of promising rain mixing with the ocean. Greg was already looking from the sky to the horizon before John gave him a gentle nudge to keep him walking forward. With their hands bound behind them they were all led to the middle of the deck before being forced to their knees.

On one side he could hear Sarah whispering something to her sisters, and on the other he heard Greg mutter things that almost had his ears growing warm.  
Captain Sherlock Holmes kept a lazy pace as he paced in front of them, pale eyes scanning each of their faces.

“This is the point where my brothers brainless minions come to take you, locking you away until someone pays ransom. No, I don’t know, or care, what happens should your loved ones decide you’re not worth the fee my brother asks for.” Sherlock rambled, smirking down at John. “I will say there will be an added ‘fee’ because of the cost of feeding you.”

“Then add it to mine alone.” John blurted as Greg started to protest.

Sherlock bent over slowly, tilting the proud face towards his. “Now, John, I think we both know there will be no ransom for you.”

“What do you mean? You have to ask for a ransom for Doctor Watson!” Sarah protested.

“It’s fine, my Lady. Please.” John pleaded calmly for her silence, never looking away from the bastard in front of him. Was Sherlock bluffing or could he honestly know there was no reason to bother with sending a ransom? “They’ll send one.” He added firmly.

If there was more mockery in store it was cut short by hurried movement beside the ship. Right away Captain Sherlocks expression went dark, almost angry as he stood to greet a man who looked just a tad bit pudgy in the middle.

His clothes were more suited to a noble than a pirate but there was no mistaking who the auburn haired fellow was. The regal air was the exact one that followed Sherlock. “Brother dear, taunting the captives? What would mummy say?”

“Most likely ‘Mycroft, do please put down the pastry before you sink the ship’.”

John couldn’t help the laugh that drew all eyes to him. “Oh, sorry, right, not funny.” He said quickly, nodding sharply. Greg tried to block the view of John from the Holmes brothers, all for nothing as Mycroft Holmes stepped around him.

The blunt point of the mans cane pressed into his bad shoulder first, sucking whatever amusement was left out. Biting the inside of his cheek hard John didn’t dare utter a sound, glaring up at the elder brother. As quickly as it happened the cane was gone, Mycroft turning attention back to Sherlock but his words were for the people at his feet.

“I will speak with each of you alone. After that your worth value will be sent as a ransom fee.” Mycroft explained casually. It was putting a price on the life of another human being but neither Greg nor John could argue it. Hadn’t they both put a price on another person’s life when they defended themselves in battle? Finally faced with the outcome of being taken hostage the group had little else to say as they were taken to a place no better than a prison.

Greg and John were put into two different cells next to each other, and the women around the corner. “John? John!” Sarahs voice was strained, bouncing off the stone walls.  
“We’re just right here, Sarah. Are the others still with you?” He asked, glancing at Greg who was busy looking over the cell door.

“Y-yes. They said Mycroft will see us together. John, are you okay?”

“You’ve got more important stuff to worry about, my Lady.” He chuckled, pressing his forehead against the cold bars. Only one way in or out from what he could tell. Clean at least. Not the usual sour smell of a prison. Turning around he could just about see the sky from a small barred window across the top of the wall.

There was some storm brewing. Making him glad they weren’t still out at sea. The ransom notes wouldn’t be going out any time soon if those clouds were anything to go by.  
“Remember our first storm out at sea together? Thought the whole damn ship would break under that force.” Greg chuckled from the cell next to him. The dusting of silver stubble on the mans face gave the impression he was far older than John but Greg had always just looked old, not so much after everything that had happened though. “I hope what’s left of the crew are far enough away by now.” He added softly.

With the oncoming storm daylight hours faded quickly, leaving all of them in cells glowing in candle light. The sisters had already spoken to Mycroft, taken together with their hands no longer tied together. John and Greg weren’t quite afforded that comfort yet. When they had been brought back Greg had been taken.

“Sarah? Are you ladies alright?” John called out, relaxing when it was confirmed each of them were fine. No quiver of the voice to have him think Sarah was lying. He wanted to ask everything Mycroft had questioned them about but he’d be finding out shortly himself. Licking his lips John racked his brain for anyone other than Harry.

# xXMycroft Homles – Gregory LestradeXx

Captain Gregory ‘Greg’ Lestrade hadn’t lived this long on good looks. Each step his brain was working overtime to figure something out. Even if things went smoothly with ransom negotiations it was always better to have a back-up plan.

Out in the open he tried to mentally count how far it was to the dock, until a harsh shove from behind nearly sent him to the ground. “Don’t even start thinking about it. Ain’t no one ever escaped from here.” The bloody buffoon had actually thought he’d run and leave everyone behind? “Saw through my clever plan, aren’t you the smart one.” Greg mocked calmly, ignoring how the guard flushed and glared at him.

Mycrofts home? Office? Sat right next to where they were being kept, another fact to be stored away. With another rough shove Lestrade was led upstairs to a room with views overlooking both the ocean and rich jungle scenes.

“Lovely, are they not?”

Jumping around he found Mycroft Holmes sitting behind a dark wood desk just. . watching him. Didn’t have the looks of the younger Holmes but there was something else. He didn’t like those eyes on him.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Captain Lestrade? Not my intention, surely you realize that. I merely need to discuss a few things with you, and then you will be taken back to your ‘friends’.” The word was uttered in such an ice tone Greg hoped the others would still be there when he was taken back. “Now, if you’d be so kind, Captain.” Mycroft added, nodding towards a chair sitting right in front of the desk.

“You mind untying my hands? Not exactly comfortable.” Greg chuckled with a forced grin as he sat. Mycroft barely gave him another look as he looked at something in front of him.

“Captain Gregory Lestrade. You’ve put in many loyal years to her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Wife, deceased but I think we both know that’s not quite true.”

“Oi! That’s nothing to do with this!” Greg growled in annoyance, glaring at the man darkly. The outburst finally had stormy gray eyes looking up at him, one eyebrow crocked in question. “Now, Gregory, is that anyway for a man of your ranking to act?”

Was this bastard mocking him?

Greg felt his cheeks flame to life at being scolded like a naughty child.

“As I was saying. Many loyal years, still many more promising years. No living relatives?”

“No.”

Mycroft again looked at him, lips curling into a smirk. “Now, Captain, if you were sitting across from someone who outranked you what would you say?”  
“’Sir’?”

“Excellent. Shall I repeat the question? Any living relatives?”

“No. . sir?”

Was he actually serious about this? “A bloody pirate doesn’t outrank me.” Greg said firmly, glaring at Mycroft who just sat there appearing good natured. Like they were old friends chatting. What he wouldn’t give to have the mans throat in his hands!

“In this case I believe I outrank you enough, Captain. There’s no reason we can’t remain civil.”

“Said the pirate.”

“Now, Gregory. .” He warned softly. No anger, nothing exactly negative. Just the soft threat. Far worse than heated anger.

It had started to rain by the time Mycroft seemed done with his list of endless questions. Which Greg wasn’t even sure why he was being asked, because a few times the bastard had the nerve to correct him. About questions in regards to his life!

“Now, about Doctor John Watson, from what I heard there is no one to pay for him, correct?”

The color drained from his face, jaw dropping. “What are you talking about? The Navy will pay for him! Same as myself!” He snapped.

“You aren’t so stupid as to believe that, are you? Doctor Watson is a man who was being sent home from an injury, with little hope that he would be able to continue being a doctor. Do you honestly believe your government will waste funds?”

“John Watson is a good man! He put in just as many years as I have.” It was true though, wasn’t it? It had been an embarrassing struggle to even get John the funds to get home, and from what he understood there was just a sister waiting. Never wrote. Nothing. “John deserves to be given a chance.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, searching his face. “This is hardly about if he’s a good person or not. If no one will pay for him there is hardly anything I can do about it.”

“Then what’s going to be done with him?”

# XxSherlock Holmes – John WatsonxX

Every few minutes the wind would slam into the side of their prison, ripping John out of whatever pathetic mode of sleep he was able to fall into. His neck was sore from tipping over but with his hands tied it was even harder to get comfortable on the cot.

John pressed his head back against the wall, cursing softly. Where was Greg? It hadn’t taken nearly this long with the women. Shouting from the doors nearby had him perking up, preparing himself to stand and be escorted to Mycroft. Horrible weather or not he wanted this over and done with. Instead of guards bringing his friend back it was Sherlock shoving through the doors, ignoring the guards yelling at his back.

The pirate captain was soaked, curls sticking to his forehead and neck. As well as his shirt clinging like a second skin. “You’ll catch a damn cold that way.” John found himself saying. Old habits of being a doctor.

“Despite the fact I’m the reason you’re here facing the unknown you still give advice like that? I wasn’t wrong about you at all. Turn around.” Sherlock was already pulling out a knife from his waist, causing John to tense and back away. “Is this an inconvenience for you? It hardly matters. Turn around so I may undo your hands!”

What made him turn around John didn’t bother looking too closely at it. When his hands were finally free he flexed his fingers slowly, making sure everything was still working properly before reaching through the bars in a blur to grab the strange eyed beast of a man to yank him against the cage. Far from angered Sherlock actually chuckled, smirking down at him.

“What game are you playing, Holmes? Where is Greg?” John asked firmly, grip tightening.

“You’re a Doctor. I require your assistance.” Sherlock ignored the question about Lestrade, something that added a bit of worry in Johns mind. “Or would you prefer to kill me now and not know how you could help someone that isn’t me?”

John flexed his fingers tightly in the wet material, glaring darkly up at the other man. No fear. At least not for himself. Dammit.

Shoving the pirate away he sighed. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You finish it? Or just glance it over to see what I mean? That's perfectly awesome. YOU are awesome. You're fucking fantastic!
> 
> Please, comments are very much needed before I can continue. Kudos are great as well but if you feel it doesn't deserve that yet I understand, and I encourage you to say why. Just be respectful is all I really ask.
> 
> Also, if you noticed Mycroft had a cane instead of an umbrella I actually debated hours about that. The cane just kind of. . fit more I guess? Sorry if it offends. Please don't toss me out of the Mystrade fandom. haha.


	3. Discussions of Fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this horrible person since I haven't gone through and edited the first two chapters yet. I just keep starting new chapters and can't seem to stop. Sorry about that. Someone did mention how they didn't like the way I brought up the Mystrade part of the fiction, but their main complaint was about the formatting when I changed so I'm trying something different.
> 
> If the need perks up I'll streamline it better. I really don't want to dump out the Mystrade part of the fanfiction because that would actually ruin other key parts, and make me horribly sad.
> 
> Also, I did try finding a beta-reader but that didn't go so well. Soooo. . sorry again. Truly.

The guards stood inside the prison now, shouting at Sherlock that he wasn’t allowed to take John until Mycroft said it was okay. They might as well have been yelling at the walls with how little attention Sherlock paid them, merely shoving both men aside before grabbing Johns wrist and tugging roughly to make him hurry.

“It won’t help anyone if you break my arm before we get there!” John snapped, yanking his arm away but keeping up pace. Wherever Sherlock was leading them he knew the way, seemingly unhesitant. It was a little difficult keeping up pace at first but each stumble sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, urging him to keep going.

Further down the rows of buildings lining the docks they came to a dimly lit place smaller but more protected. Almost out of sight except for the odd shaped sign out front hanging by the door. Drawing close enough John faintly made out the shape of a mermaid before being ushered inside.

John could recognize the heady scent of ale and perfume anywhere. The few men that lingered were either passed out in a corner, or chatting up sums with a pretty woman. Pausing in the doorway he scanned the room, not exactly sure what to expect. “Surely you haven’t brought me here for a pint and toss.” He joked, flashing a quick grin.

“I was correct to assume you’d know the type of establishment this is.” Sherlock said, ignoring the ‘joke’ completely as he gestured for John to keep following him. Behind the bar through a one man guarded hallway. Through the door the doctor could hear soft whimpers of a feminine type, and faint foot-steps. Far outweighing curiosity worry had him edging around Sherlocks taller form, eyes going wide at the sight of the woman sitting on a bed with a bloody cloth to her cheek.

Another figure stood in the room, almost as tall as Sherlock but very much a woman. The term ‘Siren’ came to mind when John took more than a second to look at her but his doctorly duties wouldn’t be muffled by a beautiful face. “What seems to be the problem here?” He asked, holding his hands up when the woman on the bed flinched.  
“This is Doctor John Watson. Molly, he’ll take care of you.” Sherlock stood at the foot of the bed, ignoring the woman close by.

The woman, Molly, hesitated before the dark haired woman gave a curt nod. “A man got a little too stupid over a card game.” She explained, watching Johns every move as he sat on the edge of the bed and coaxed Mollys hand away from her face.

Certainly wasn’t the first time a working woman had needed his help. “I need a clean towel and some hot water so I can examine the cut better.” He requested, offering the strawberry blonde a kind smile. “As Captain Holmes said I’m Doctor John Watson. What’s your name, miss? If it hurts to talk just nod.”

“Molly. Molly Hooper, sir.” She answered with a wince.

“That’s enough of that, Molly Hooper. Does your. . friend know everything the man did?” He asked, glancing over at the figure now lingering on the other side of the bed.

“Irene, Doctor. He didn’t get more than a punch in before we handled him out the door. Molly isn’t one for pain, as it’s clearly stated before an exchange.” Irene explained, reaching out to stroke the womans hair with a ‘tsking’ noise. “She screamed when he hit her, and I happened to hear it. I’m quite accustomed to telling which is a scream of pleasure or pain. He was taken care of.”

John tried to ignore that underlying purr in those words. That woman was watching him like he was a tasty treat! And Sherlock was still just standing there.

Glaring slightly at the both of him he nodded towards Molly, clearing his throat. “One of you needs to get me some clean towels, and hot water. Now!” He barked firmly, feeling the familiar surge as people tensed under his orders. A firm glare had Irene rolling her eyes before heading to the door, poking her head out to call for a ‘Kate’ and giving instructions on what to grab. Sherlock had merely taken a seat in the corner, looking far less than pleased to be there.

Sherlock wasn’t his problem right now. He needed to make sure that cut wasn’t as bad as it looked, which was most likely the case. Wounds on the face or head tended to bleed horribly no matter how minor but scarring might be an issue.

Offering a warm smile he turned her head slowly, ‘hmming’ softly.

When a little table was set up with everything he needed John rolled his sleeves up to wash his hands. Not ideal in the least but far better than nothing.

“Okay, Molly. This might hurt just a bit but we’ll have you fixed up in a bit, promise.” John said kindly, using a damp towel to clear away some of the caked on blood. Each little tremble hit him in the gut but she didn’t cry out or yank away. Strong woman, had to respect that.

After a few minutes John sat back, nodding a bit to himself before glancing back at Irene. “Do you have any sort of salve for cuts? Anything of the sort?”

“In the chest by the fireplace. A lady is always prepared.” She said with a wink.

Giving a polite chuckle he went to dig through the chest, finding it easy considering how organized everything was. A welcome surprise really.

“Might burn a little bit but it’ll clear up soon, shouldn’t even scar. I’ll want to see it in a day or so, and until then I’d recommend not talking unless you have to. It’ll help your jaw from hurting and keep this little cut from splitting.” He explained while dabbing on a bit of the cream. “Not even to say thank you.” He added quickly. Her soft giggle said he’d just caught her about to speak.

If this were a normal situation he could suggest she be given time to rest away from customers but he was still a captive. Why Sherlock had come for him was a bit of a mystery but one he’d surely ask about in private.

 

Sherlock lounged in the corner; pale eyes watching the scene fold out in front of him. When Mycroft whined about taking a prisoner, and he would, he just planned on saying there were no closer options. Mycroft might possibly believe that.

As it stood he just wanted a chance to see the good doctor at work. It wasn’t much of an actual case. Honestly he could have handled it, just without the gentle care and tender words. He’d never had much of a bedside manner.

“Sherlock, why don’t I pour you a nightcap before you escort our lovely Doctor Watson home?” Irene asked, flicking one of his curls playfully as she passed him. Blasted woman. Though, it was another interesting angle to this little puzzle that was John Watson. Could he be trusted alone with someone who would make a decent hostage? 

Standing gracefully from his seat Sherlock tossed a careless glance at his captive, raising an eyebrow. “Stay here. We’ll head back shortly.” Not waiting for a reply he followed Irene out, leaving a single man to guard the door.

Others might strain for small talk but Irene knew him. Small talk had never been a strong suit. “That Watson man is certainly easy on the eyes. A little rough but being taken captive rarely leaves good wear and tear.” She tossed out casually, pouring a strong drink.

“Hm, you noticed?” He chuckled, sniffing the drink as she gave a devilish grin.

“Oh, still don’t trust me, sweetheart?”

“You tried to kill me or at least hinder me useless. The second option makes more sense but you never were a person who did things half way.”

“I would never kill you, Sherlock, and I’d only hurt you in the best way possible.” It was a pointless game they’d played around for years. Irenes tastes were for far more softer bodies but that didn’t stop her from teasing, hinting, and sometimes waiting in his private rooms naked just to see if he’d ever break. Their ‘relationship’ was dangerous.

Daring to take a small sip of the strong whiskey Sherlock mentally shivered, basking in the warmth that flowed through him. It had been an interesting night. “You aren’t worried leaving him alone with one of your girls? Surely you would be conscious of the loss of profit if he were to hurt her in some way.”

“He’s a dangerous man. One look into those pretty eyes and you can see that but he won’t hurt her. Too much of a doctor in him for that.” Irene sighed, sipping her drink with a low moan.

Rolling his eyes Sherlock turned to look out over the room. He’d expected Mycroft to send someone after them by now. The storm might still be raging but that had never stopped the pompous arse before. “As if you don’t already know all that. You hardly took your eyes off him once. Does our little Sherlock have a crush?”

The look on his face was pure disgust, weather it was towards the idea or Irene it didn’t matter. “Even when so annoyed you have such a pretty face. So, between friends, is he as delicious as he looks?” She stage whispered, leaning across the bar into his personal space.

Sherlock stood briskly, glaring at the woman before heading back to get John.

Molly was already asleep on the bed, John resting his head on the best pillow arms could make. Standing back he had to admit, sheepishly, that John was as much fun to look at as test. Slightly older but fine dustings of pale blonde hair that would surely be going silver in the next few years. Pale stubble from the days without shaving, which would need to be changed.

No! No! No!

Sherlock Holmes did NOT gape over beauty like some mindless buffoon. What a field day Mycroft would have with this.

Reaching out to shake Johns shoulder roughly he was taken by surprise when a hand shot out, smaller frame moving in a blur to have the arm yanked behind his back. Coming back to his senses Holmes found himself face forward against the floor, arm twisted behind his back and a knee digging into his lower spine.

Oh yes.

Heavy breathing suggested confusion over purpose. “Night terrors, hm? Not uncommon for a man returning from war. You’re shaking even with little worry that I’d be able to get my way out of this without, at least, a broken arm. So, you’re ‘scared’ of what these night terrors make you do, even to someone like me.”

The arm was twisted up slightly until he gave a gasp, trembling.

“Will you do it, John Watson? Break the arm of the man responsible for bringing you here? Not with that hesitation. Ohh, worried about the affect this might have in regards to the others ransoms?”

Johns grip loosened slightly before the entire weight of him was gone. “Amazing.”

What? Rolling over onto his back Sherlock looked up into a stunned face. John might not have even have known he’d uttered the word out loud but it had been said. “Beg pardon?”  
John frowned, starting to offer Sherlock a hand up before stepping around him instead. “You’re a damn pirate. I should have snapped your arm at least.” At this point the tip of his tongue edged out, moistening his lips. “So, back to the cell then? I’m not here to be a doctor.”

But he was. From the stress of the last few days one would expect his limp to get worse, or even the shaking in his hand to be worse but the man standing before him was whole. Eyes sharp as he watched a pirate get to his feet, while also glancing at the woman still fast asleep on the bed.  
“It’s either I take you back or Mycroft sends someone. Merely depends on whose company you’d prefer.”

“Oh good, I actually have a choice now.” John didn’t bother holding back his sarcasm before following Sherlock from the room.

 

The rain soaked right down to the bone, making him wonder how Sherlock appeared so unaffected. The man was just walking bones with a layer of skin!  
Other questions ran through his head but John only cared to be somewhere he could rest. What answers could he expect from Sherlock?

“John! About damn time. Where you been off to?” Gregs voice echoed when they stepped inside, followed closely by someone with a set of keys jingling at his belt. Someone with a message from the dear elder Holmes.

“Captain, Mr. Mycroft has suggested you hand over your keys to me. If you take issue he mentioned he’ll be around in the morning.”

So that little trip really had been unplanned? What the hell was Sherlock thinking? Nope. Not any of his concern. If the curly haired prat wanted to get his arse in trouble with Mycroft Holmes so be it. Not his problem.

Sherlock, to his credit, ignored the guard until John was safely back in his cell. “What makes you think I even have a set?” He asked with a confused frown.

“Ah, well, sir, the guards from before said you unlocked the door. That they. . didn’t. . sir.”

“And my dear older brother is just going to believe a bunch of men who waste everything they own on gambling? Are you going to search me for said keys because I can assure you there will be nothing to find!” He dared, stepping closer to the man who looked around nervously as if anyone important were actually around.

“No, Captain. I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Holmes the other men before were mistaken. N-need an escort to Mr. Mycrofts?”

“Overcompensating for the error. Such brown nosing might gather my brothers boorish attention but it won’t do so for me.” Sherlock answered before merely taking a cell missing a door. Lying back on the bed his hands came up to fold slightly beneath his chin, ankles crossed and eyes closed but this wasn’t sleeping.

“Right, sir, right.” He cut off saying anything else, merely giving a somewhat confused look before hurrying back to his post.

Johns attention left the pirate captain to focus more on his body shivering from the rain soaked clothes. The cot blankets were surprisingly thick, worn and a bit stained but nothing unusable from what he could tell.

Pulling first the shirt off he tied the sleeves to separate bars of his current holdings, trying to spread it out to help drying. “Where the bloody hell were you?” Greg whispered, glancing towards Sherlock a few cells away.

No longer caring about modesty John pulled his trousers off as well, tying them up. “There was someone who needed a doctor. Oi! You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes.”

“John?! Oh thank God you’re alright!”

“Yes, Sarah. You should be resting as well. Doctors orders.” He joked, wrapping the sheets tightly around himself. He felt exhausted. It wasn’t his concern if Sherlock lay there all night in his soaking wet clothes. Would just be another thorn out of his side. Greg had gone by example and laid out on his own cot, seemingly more relaxed now that John was back around. 

He wanted to ask about what Mycroft Holmes would ask him but the raging winds outside were a little bit therapeutic. There would be time in the morning hopefully.

 

Morning came in the form of loud ringing as someone banged on the bars of his cell. “Doctor John Watson, right? Up and at’em! Mr. Mycroft Holmes needs to speak with you now.”  
Sagging back into the wood cot John ignored the pain in his shoulder, and leg, to mentally check that everything else was alright. Still just about naked, so last night really had happened. Cracking open an eye he saw his clothes were still tied up and they looked dry. On a whim he started to glance around before the man waiting gave a warning growl, slamming the metal object hard against the bars.

“That’s enough lazing about then! You’re not on some holiday!” He snapped.

So, time to talk about where his life was heading.

Wonderful.

Bloody perfect.

Sparing a glance towards Greg he found the man still asleep, almost snoring. It brought a fond grin to his face. Greg had always been such a heavy sleeper. Getting up to dress he couldn’t help but notice Sherlock was gone, no trace left. Must have left when the storm eased up.

Sherlock should be the last thing on his mind. He was effectively being led to what could be a death sentence, and he was worried about the damn pirate who had brought him here? It made sense to be worried about Molly. He needed to check on her soon but surely this place had a doctor. Then why had Sherlock got him?

“Doctor Watson?”

“Ah, yes. Yes, that’s me. Mycroft Holmes?” He already knew the answer. Not only was the man seated behind the desk but he oozed power. Both brothers did. Somehow the elder Holmes seemed more of a people person or he was better at faking it.

When it was offered John sat down, eyes straight ahead and steady.

“I don’t feel I should have to insult your intelligence by going through the normal procedure, doctor. Though, your friend Gregory implied it would be heartless of me to not at least ask if you’re sure there isn’t something to pay a ransom.”

They had talked about him? The idea was a tad bit bothersome but John felt too tired to say much. “There’s no one I can think of. The Government will pay for Lestrade, as they should, and Lady Sarah and her sisters are safe.”

Mycroft was watching him carefully, as if picking him apart. So, both Holmes brothers had that habit.

“Did my brother let you out of the cell last night, doctor?”

John looked right at him now, expression unchanging. “No.” He lied smoothly, easily. Stupid really to lie to Mycroft Holmes but it was rather exciting.

“So one of the guards let you out? Do you happen to remember which one?”

“We’re not exactly on first name bases yet.” John kept a straight face even under the cold smirk on the others face.

If the man was annoyed he held back any cutting remarks before continuing. “Ms. Adler informed me my brother stole you away in the middle of a storm to go tend to one of her working women. He so does love to be dramatic.”

“Thank goodness you’re above all that.” John gave a pointed look around the office now, ignoring the small glare. “I just don’t understand why you bothered to have me brought here. There is no one to pay, and I don’t even know where my sister is.”

‘Why don’t you just kill me now? Get it over it?’ was the thought crossing his mind. Something Mycroft clearly saw as he gave a small chuckle.

“Now, Doctor Watson, we will send a note along with the other ransoms. It’s only after it isn’t paid that we decide the best course of action.” With a snap of his fingers two men came to take John back, Mycroft already looking back at his papers.

“Wait! The woman I tended to the other night. Molly? I need to check on her.” John didn’t request it, he demanded it. Rough hands grabbed his upper arms, dragging him back before Holmes gave another chuckle like he was dealing with a child.

“So protective. I can assure that Ms. Hooper is in excellent hands now, Doctor Watson.”

John bit the inside of his cheek, yanking out of the hands holding him. “I need to check for signs of infection. I’m sure your doctors are more than competent but Molly was my patient. I am a doctor. Put me to use while I’m here, could it work off some sort of ransom for me?”

It was Mycrofts turn to school his features into nothing. That was certainly a first. There was the expected begging for their lives, offers for sexual favors, and other range of offers if there was no one to pay. Of course they had never taken a doctor captive. Let alone a man with no title who had been somewhat crippled by war. Forcing his face into a blank smile Mycroft nodded slowly. “If you will excuse me, John.”

 

XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Sleeping past dawn was a habit Greg rarely partook in. Years of rising with the break of day had taken their toll on his sleep habits but by the time he actually woke the sun was just about fully risen.

Rubbing at the stubble dusting along his jawline he gave a groan, turning his head to see if John were up and about. Only to find him gone.

“John?” He called out stupidly, sitting up.

“They came to take him early, Captain Lestrade.” Sarah called from around the corner. “You must have been asleep. It couldn’t have been that long ago. That’s good though, right? They’ll be able to send our ransom notes, and we’ll be able to go home soon, yes?”

Mycroft had wanted to talk to John? That just sounded cruel. What were they going to even chat about? That pirate bastard giving false hope to a man who had nearly died for his country. Even the truth was a bit harsh. John had lost his career, and a bit of his spark, after the attack. It had been for his country and the government wouldn’t pay to save him.

“Captain Lestrade?”

“Yes, my lady, I’m here. Not long you said? Did you hear anything else?”

“No, Captain. I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. I should have already been awake.” He grumbled the last part more at himself, feeling suddenly uneasy about having slept through them coming to get John. 

Shortly after that John was being shoved back into his cell, looking as thoughtful as when he’d first been told he was being discharged. Not good.

“Joh-“

“Captain Gregory Lestrade, Mr. Holmes wants to see you now.”

“I-I already saw him. Why does he want to see me again?” Greg asked, backing away from the door as it was unlocked.

“I don’t know. Just hurry up.”

Making a point to ignore the man he took a step towards John, reaching through the bars until something hard slammed against his upper back.

“Greg! Can you hear me?!” Johns voice rang clear as a damn bell but so did the throbbing in his shoulders and chest area. Had that bastard hit him? Honestly?

“Ya ya, mate. Hear you.” He coughed weakly, refusing to show any trace of pain. It was embarrassing enough he’d even been caught off guard.

 

Stumbling into Mycrofts office he didn’t wait to be asked to take a seat, instead falling back into the familiar chair from yesterday. Unlike yesterday though Holmes seemed to have more attention on him than the papers. “Think those that pay for me might want me in one piece, don’t you think?” Greg suggested with a glare, leaning back as far as he could.

“Did one of my men get rough with you? They do have the tendency to think more with their fists than their minds. To be expected.” He sounded so bloody calm about it that Greg wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk angering the man. Who knew what the bastard would do.

As if hearing the question Mycroft stood, walking around the desk slowly with the cane clasped tightly. More for looks than actual need. The black wood perfectly maintained, as was the silver hand piece that Mycroft Holmes was holding so delicately. God how he just wanted to snap that cane in half just to watch the man break.

Greg tensed when the less than dull point touched the underside of his chin, bringing his eyes upward until he was forced to look at Mycroft. On a childish whim his eyes darted away, fingers digging into his thighs. “Now, Gregory, we are not children here.” He laughed warmly, stroking along his jaw with the cane. “Look at me.”  
Sucking back a bitter retort he looked up, only wanting that cane away from his face.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, are you in need of a doctor or are you just acting childish to somehow gain pity? Honesty, Gregory.”

Rolling his shoulders slightly Greg gave a small shake of his head. “Just gonna bruise. I’ve had worse.” He said calmly. It would also leave him horribly sore but it was true that he’d had worse done.

“Good boy. Though, I must add that we had a talk last night. I do outrank you during your stay here.”

What game was he playing at? “You still want me to call you ‘Sir’? And my ‘stay’ is far less than willing.”

“So, would you not agree that means I out rank you? If I so wanted you would call even my lowest ranking ship hand ‘sir’. Oh, don’t like that, do you?” Mycroft could barely contain the glee in his voice as dark eyes went wide. He’d been following this mans career for quite some time. Thank goodness Sherlock didn’t know or he’d never hear the end of it, or Sherlock might have even let Gregory go just because.

Humming warmly Mycroft ran the cane slowly down Lestrades chest, watching his expression. “No reason to look so put out, Gregory. I would hardly do such a thing.”  
No. Those cabbaged brained buffoons would never get the pleasure of hearing that.

Greg sat there tense before forcing out a breath, breaking eye contact first. “While you have me here I want to talk about John Watson. Did you consider what I said?”  
Choosing to ignore the whole encounter. Fair enough. Judging by the increase of breathing he’d remember this for a few hours yet. Sighing softly Mycroft pulled back completely but remained in front of the captain.

“To add Doctor Watsons ransom to yours so your government would think it was wholly yours. Interesting idea but it doesn’t seem a wise business model for myself. If they think we gave Watson over without asking ransom that takes away some of our credibility.”

“He’s a person! Not a bloody business model!”

“For a man of your ranking you have such a bleeding heart.” Mycroft sighed but he didn’t look angry at the outburst, far from it. “Your friend made an interesting plea. Not exactly unintelligent that Doctor Watson. As it stands I could not add his ransom to yours even if I wanted to.”

Greg tensed again, eyes going wide. “You already sent the notes, didn’t you?”

A quick nod was enough to send his heart racing. He couldn’t leave John behind like this.

“There should be a reply within the month. Should it go accordingly we will have you, and the women, shipped off to the exchange point. We certainly can’t have them here!” Mycroft chuckled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“What? You had me brought here just for that?” Greg stood up now, stepping forward into the others personal space.

“I found it to be quite informative. Now, Gregory, if you would please.”

And like that Greg found himself being dismissed like nothing and taken away.

That bastard!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish the chapter? Thank you thank you thank you!! You're amazing. Love you lots.
> 
> Comments are so very very loved. Even if it's not positive just keep it civil. Kudos are also nice but if you feel I don't deserve it yet please tell me why so that I may try to fix the problem for you. :3


	4. Playing Nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope hope hope you're still enjoying this.
> 
> Un-betaed and such. Sorry about that, sweeties.
> 
> Also, as a warning I did go a little extreme with what Valerian root can do. Mainly about how quickly a person reacts to it. Sorry about that.

They sat back to back, leaning back against the cold bars of their shared cell wall. It had been a full two days since any of them had been to speak with Mycroft Holmes, or even the younger Holmes brother. Their only contact with the outside world was the guards, not that they ever said much beyond a few taunts here and there.

A few times the ladies started a conversation. Usually about what they would do when they got back home. John had never exactly wanted the charmed and easy life, it made him squirm just thinking about him in a big house with servants and too much time but they made it sound wonderful. He wanted them to be safe and out of here. Back to their lives where they would find what they honestly wanted. This incident wouldn’t ruin their chances in society at least. The Holmes brothers reputation could be counted on for something.

Sometimes one of them would even ask John or Greg what they planned on doing back home. Greg merely said he couldn’t wait to be back on a ship. John gave a sickeningly sweet story about going home to find a sweet girl for a wife. Greg knew the truth but he didn’t say anything about it. A few pity filled glances but nothing was verbal.

“You look like you could use this, mate.” Greg murmured, passing a stale piece of bread to his friend. At the stubborn refusal he sighed, giving the food a gentle shake. “Fine.” He finally pulled his hand back, shaking his head with a glance towards the door.

The food would have done him some good. His body felt weak. Maybe he’d just die before being submitted to whatever Mycroft had planned for a ransomless captive. John wanted to give himself a hard punch. Everything he’d endured and his mind dared to even consider taking an easy death?

 

Sherlock slammed his palm against the desk before gesturing wildly to the red lipped siren close by. “How can you even consider it, Mycroft?”

Mycroft let out a dramatic sigh, ignoring his little brother quite easily from the appearance. Flipping through the book in front of him the elder Holmes allowed Sherlock to slap the book from his hand, letting it fall to the floor with a surprisingly loud ‘thump’. “Does that help you feel better, Sherlock?” His voice dripped with amusement but anyone who knew him could hear the contempt. Allowing emotions to dictate your actions to such a degree was almost beyond comprehension. Leaning back in the chair Mycroft watched his brothers flushed face, pale eyes flashing with annoyance bordering on anger. “Would you prefer the alternative? Throwing him into the slave trade and just dusting our hands of him? Ms. Adler came to me with an offer, and it does seem a waste to throw a well-trained doctor to the wolves.”

Irene stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the desk before reaching out to run a finger-tip down Sherlocks jaw. “John Watson is a sweet natured man. I don’t see him taking advantage of my girls, but you’re welcome to visit him whenever you like.”

“Irene.” Mycroft warned calmly but Sherlock had already pushed her hand away, eyes going wide and breathe stuttering out at what she was implying.

“Irene came to me this morning with an offer. Nothing is set in stone, Sherlock. I did send a request of ransom for Doctor John Watson but if they refuse to pay the amount we ask then I must consider alternatives.”

He knew this. Why was Mycroft lecturing him like some stupid child? “You plan on using him as one of your whores? Do you honestly believe the good doctor to be interested in such an agreement?” He scoffed.

It was Irenes turn to look annoyed before standing from the desk. “Mycroft, my offer stands for John Watson.”

It wasn’t until she was gone that either brother spoke again. “He brings in more money as a trained Doctor than a whore. Ms. Adler isn’t as lacking in thought as many like to assume.” Mycroft said, idly stroking the silver head of his cane that perched against his leg. “We will know soon enough if there is even any point in such an offer. Until then I highly recommend you stay away from John Watson.”

“Oh, like you plan on staying away from Lestrade?” Sherlock bit out, leaning across the desk. “Truly, brother mine, you should remember how servants like to gossip. And what delicious fodder it is to hear the plans of their Master has to attempt to charm a captive.”

Mycroft sneered slightly at his brothers implications, sighing before dusting at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “Captain Gregory Lestrade is a rare opportunity to gather more information. Torture might work for some but it leaves obvious scars, and the reputation suffers. Pirates or not we make a hefty sum from our ransoms because we give them back in one piece. The ladies are never left with child, and the men are never maimed. If I manage to ‘charm’ Gregory, as you so eloquently put it, whatever secrets he tells me will remain as such. Do you think he would be quick to disclose to his superiors’ that he was charmed by another man?”

Beautifully put. A decent way to gain information without it being obvious. Lestrade would remain silent, and they could use the information without worrying the Government would be forced to change anything. It was grand.

“Is that why you’ve been actively dieting again, Mycroft? Cutting back on those little tea cakes you used to have hidden in the middle right drawer?” Sherlock chuckled with a dark smirk. Pushing back from the desk he turned, storming off.

“Sherlock!”

He just wanted to leave now. Slam the door in Mycrofts face but there was something interesting in his brothers tone. “What do you need, Mycroft?”

“Tomorrow you will leave to drop-off a shipment of rum. Should keep you busy for at least a month.”

A drop-off? “Boring! I refuse.” He growled.

“I don’t recall asking, little brother.”

Insults lingered on the tip of his tongue, held back only by the idea starting to form. “Of course, Mycroft.”

 

The drop-off of stolen rum was nothing more than an attempt of Mycrofts to get his younger brother out of the way. Sherlock knew that, and hated being treated like a child but there was something fun that could come of this.

Something about John Watson was hard to pin down. He should have been embarrassingly easy to pick apart. Military doctor being sent home for an injury. A man who had little career hopes even when he was home but he was still different. Watching him work around the ship had revealed a man who loved the hard work. Even when Sherlock could see the mans shoulder giving him pain John never stopped. Not to mention the few times John had been witness to a deduction. He’d found it impressive, genuinely so.

Sherlock hated not being able to figure out someone. It was just so rare when it happened that he couldn’t.

Biting gently at his thumb he paused to glance at the smallish prison where the captives were being held. Sneaking John out wouldn’t be as easy as last time. . unless. Sucking in a quick lungful of air Sherlock hurried back to his private home. It was just one the other side of Irenes little establishment but it helped with gathering information.

It was a two story designed modeled after something you’d find in London. The landlady was actually very proud of it, as she told him quite often. Mrs. Hudson was an older woman who had earned everything she held now; including being the one to start up the business Irene now ran. It left her with a lot of free time to sit around and talk, and that’s just what Sherlock needed right now. If someone would know something it would be his dear old Mrs. Hudson.

 

Sherlock forced down another little tea cake, allowing the old woman to mother him. Despite being reminded daily she wasn’t the house keeper he would come in after days at sea to the woman trying to feed him, or the home completely cleaned. Well, the parts she dared clean. 

Thankfully Mrs. Hudson rambled as she moved around. First it was about what she would have done different than Irene next door, while also saying she was proud of the woman. Then it was about men that were banned, and if Sherlock could get Mycroft to do anything about them. “I’d go see him myself, dear, but he’s always busy doing something. Or there’s some party he has planned.”

“Party, Mrs. Hudson? I wasn’t aware my brother had actual friends.” Sherlock pushed the conversation along the route he needed, heart picking up pace. 

“Well, there’s certainly something he’s planning. Ms. Adler told me he requested Molly as extra help for the night. Gave most of his servants the night off so I heard, which I don’t understand why if he has something planned.”

“For tonight?” Oh that would be just perfect timing. Giving the usual servants the night off in an attempt to hide something. Molly was a tight lipped woman who knew how to keep the gossip down, perfect choice to use instead. Excellent!

Mycroft wouldn’t find out about John missing until morning at the latest. They wouldn’t dare disturb him at home.

Standing quickly Sherlock darted out the door leaving behind a half full tea cup and the gray haired home shaking her head. “That boy.” She sighed fondly.

### XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Cool eyes regarded both men carefully before landing on Greg. She wasn’t a working girl from Irenes place but not a lady either. Her clothing was simple but modest; it was mainly the aura she carried herself with.

There had to be a weapon hidden on her person somewhere. The unworried actions as she unlocked Gregs cell were just too calm. “Captain Lestrade, if you’d follow me.” The men waiting merely a few feet away made it clear this wasn’t optional.

Greg held Johns gaze a minute longer before stepping out of the cell, masking his face into calm and collected. “What does Holmes want now? Will we be sent home soon?”  
His questions were more than ignored. It was like the woman just wasn’t listening at all. Even in the waiting carriage she ignored him. Now though Greg wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know where this was going. Made sense though. He was the Captain of the ship these blasted pirates had captured, and his reputation seemed well known to Mycroft.

Biting at the inside of his cheek Greg talked himself down a few times. Whatever Mycroft had planned couldn’t be as bad as he was making it out. If Mycroft wanted to torture him then so be it. He’d rather die than give that bastard any information he might want. By the time the carriage had stopped in front of a rather large house he was as calm as could be expected.

He followed the woman slowly, working past the sudden weight of his feet. He hadn’t thought to be tortured in such a well to do home but Mycroft didn’t exactly act like most pirates that he’d ever encountered before. The term ‘Gentleman Pirate’ crossed his mind, which was beyond ridiculous. He was so busy scolding himself he didn’t even realize the woman was speaking until her cool gaze sent a jolt down his spine.

“As I said, you will be taken somewhere to bathe and groom yourself. A change of clothes will be brought to you.” The underlying threats didn’t need to be made. If he caused trouble they still had John, and the ladies.

“Dressing up the sacrifice before killing it? Poetic.” Greg grumbled.

 

The clothes fit perfectly, a fact that Lestrade did not want to explore too closely. They’d most likely just be ruined soon anyway. It felt like an insult to get him cleaned up only to rip him apart. Pausing in front of a mirror Greg felt his stomach twist. Though, if it was from fear or hunger he couldn’t tell the difference.

With Johns teasing voice in his head about how much he could eat Greg pushed the door open, fighting back the urge to apologize when he noticed the door had almost hit the blank eyed woman. 

Dammit. “Sor-“

“This way.”

Alright then.

Even if guards weren’t out in the open he could feel eyes burning into his back. Hidden everywhere waiting for one negative move on his part. Never had he missed his weapons so much.

“Mr. Holmes will be with you shortly.” She yanked him out of his thoughts when they stepped into a room. A room he didn’t quite picture like this.

“What is all this?” He asked, gesturing at the table with what looked like actual food. Wine? Bloody hell. What was Mycroft Holmes playing at? Brushing past the woman he went to examine the food, glaring over his shoulder only to find him alone and the door shut. A faint ‘click’ signaled the lock turning, and suddenly the food lost what little appeal it had for a brief moment.

 

Silverware was laid out on display, the temptation to steal one for a weapon to use at a later date burning into his brain. Greg picked up one of the smaller knives carefully, brushing a thumb over the blade to check for sharpness. Wasn’t the biggest or sharpest but it was less likely to be noticed missing. 

Hearing the lock clicking again the knife was quickly hidden in the waist of his trousers. A little uncomfortable but it was the best place he could think of when he didn’t even have shoes.

Turning around Greg again forced his face into a blank expression as his eyes met those of the elder Holmes brother.

“Gregory, if I take another few steps to the table would it be wise to assume I’ll notice a utensil missing?”

Greg felt his blood run cold, fist flexing by his side. Such tiny reactions but searching eyes took everything in a matter of seconds, and the bastard smiled. Actually smiled like he’d caught a damn child with their hand in the sweets jar.

“I would hate to have this otherwise civil meeting disturbed by a folly attempt in heroics.” Images of the others flashed through his mind, forcing Greg to reconsider the rash plan that had formed. His fingers twitched, causing Mycroft to laugh softly as he walked over.

The soft ‘tap’ of the cane against the dark wood floor froze him in place, heart picking up pace as Mycroft came closer. When the man was within arm’s length a hand reached out to pluck the knife from its hiding spot, without so much as breaking eye contact. “Sit, Gregory.”

Slowly taking his seat Greg shook his head, hands in his lap. “I had heard you Holmes brothers used dark magic to see the unseen.” He sounded unimpressed. His mother had might gone on about superstitions from his cradle years to when he left home for the last time but Greg had never believed them.

“You don’t sound convinced.” Mycroft sat across from him, easily watching the doors at Gregs back. “Do you not harbor the same fears? Or even worry I may bewitch you?” His tone was careful and amused but the dark light behind the amusement gave the emotion away.

“If you were going to bewitch me you’d have done it already, and if you had bewitched me by now I wouldn’t have wanted to hide that knife to use on you.” No point in beating around the bush. Watching Mycroft cut himself a bit of ham off he tried to beat down the hunger until a loud rumbling growl broke the silence.

The look of mocking curiosity had him glaring, daring Mycroft to say something first. When the posh twit did open his mouth it was a little surprising. “Is the meat not to your liking, Gregory?”

“Why are you doing this, Holmes? Is the food poisoned or do you just get off on luring captives into a false sense of security?” He snapped, tensing when the other set his fork and knife down carefully. Slowly Mycroft arranged himself comfortably in his seat but still somehow made it look like a throne.

“What good are you to me poisoned? If you die I lose the payment you will bring in, and torture? My dear Lestrade, if I wanted you broken you would. .” Mycroft went silent then. Greg could see the internal struggle, or at least he thought he did.

“So you normally bring captives to dinner? You might see me as stupid but don’t insult me by acting surprised that this whole ‘thing’ seems off to me. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t trust it! Or you!” Greg took a shallow breath, settling back when he realized just how close he’d come to standing.

“If I wanted your blood spilled it wouldn’t be in my home.” Mycroft laughed calmly. Gesturing around the room he smiled slowly at Greg. “Look for blood stains if you so desire. A man in your position would know how hard it is to remove any trace, and even then there would be obvious signs of removal.”

Was this just a game or was he honestly overthinking this?

As if seeing the doubt on his face Mycroft poured wine for the both of them, sipping first to put anymore worry at ease.

Wine wasn’t really to his liking. The clear liquid was crisp, almost like biting into an apple. “Good. . stuff, aye?” Greg said with a weak grin.

“I figured you weren’t a wine man. Somewhat disappointing though.” Mycroft sighed, long fingers stroking the glass stem. Why did he have to do it like that? “I imagine you and Doctor Watson are more of the type who enjoys a strong mix of rum or beer.” Greg watched the other lift the glass up for another sip, frowning.

“Certainly a lot cheaper than this lot. Good though.” He had to admit the crisp sweetness was nice. Not a harsh burn like some of the preferred drinks of his youth. This wasn’t exactly meant for drinking until you could hardly see straight though. Taking another drink he noticed how Mycroft was just sipping, whereas he was almost done with his first glass. “Why do you have me here? Don’t look at me like that. You bloody well know what I mean. In your house, cleaned up, and food.”

 

Mycroft fiddled with one of the forks beside his plate, trying to arrange it neatly between the other utensils. Molly was a good hearted girl but table setting was not one of her skills. His guest was like a timid kitten.

Actually, glancing once more at the man he had to change that to like a cornered wolf. His fangs were bared, eyes narrowed in mistrust. You could tame a dog with promises of food but not a wild beast like this.

“Is this how you always speak to your superiors’, Captain Lestrade?”

The air crackled over the table as their eyes met. “Manners, Gregory.” He added.

“Why do you have me in your damned house, sir?” Greg practically growled the last word, fingers no doubt digging into his thighs.

“Isn’t that better?” He re-filled Gregs almost empty glass. “Please refrain from ‘chugging’ the wine.”

Mycroft didn’t expect him to listen. Though, it was a little amusing when Greg finished his glass in only a few sips. Was this supposed to insult him? Whatever end this reached it would only go poorly for Gregory.

After the mans third glass he watched the slight daze in Lestrades eyes. It was finally hitting him that the wine might not be as strong as rum but it wasn’t water. Mycroft chuckled softly, pouring a bit more. The hesitation spoke volumes, as well did the tremble in his fingers.

Without a word Mycroft made a plate with a small amount of food, setting it in front of Greg. The command was given through body language and a firm nod towards the plate.

 

“Bloody bastard.” Greg murmured before biting into a roll. His head felt tight, uncomfortable. The sweet bread was a wonderful distraction. Melting on his tongue and. . it was gone? Frowning he picked up another to take a few bites.

This almost felt like the last few days hadn’t been real. He was clean, dressed properly and enjoying food with. . Mycroft Holmes. The very name left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
“I wouldn’t, Gregory.” The warning sparked anger that had started to blanket. Who did that little twat think he was?

“How do you even know what I’m about to do?” He asked, refusing to reach for his glass now. No. Let Mycroft think he was wrong. These Holmes brothers couldn’t be right all the bloody time. God, was he actually getting drunk? On this stuff? It would have been funny if this weren’t the situation under which he was finding out.

Sod it! Taking a drink of the white wine he gave a grin, shrugging. “A guest should be allowed to enjoy themselves. Manners, Mycroft.”

“Tsk tsk, Gregory. What a smart mouth you have.” Mycroft almost purred, lips curling into a faint smirk around the rim of his own glass.

 

### xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

He could hear Mycroft screaming already. Well, as close as Mycroft would get to screaming. 

Watching the waves in the distance Sherlock felt his heart jump at the feeling his rule breaking gave him. More than simple rule breaking really. Currently Doctor John Watson was passed out in the captains’ quarters as they sailed towards the East. This was going against every protocol Mycroft had set up in regards to captives.  
Just picturing his brothers face was enough to nearly have him trembling with pleasure.

“Captain Holmes? Sir?”

“What?” He glanced at the man before tensing, eyes flashing with excitement. “He’s awake then?”

“Aye, Captain. Started telling us to untie him a few minutes ago but I thoug-“

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too much.” Sherlock brushed past the man, heading straight for his room. A little sleeping drought in the others tea and it was easy to get him without a struggle. It had worked beautifully when he’d noticed Greg was gone. Most likely having to suffer through the company of Mycroft. Poor man. Sherlock almost felt sorry for him.

 

John tugged at the binds keeping his wrists behind his back. Maybe he could roll to the floor and get somewhere without the use of his hands but where? They were back on a ship.

Parts of the night came and went in a hazy wave. Greg had been taken away, that he remembered. Hell, Greg had better be alright or he really would wring one of those bastards necks. After that Sherlock had come and offered. . tea?

Why had he been so bloody stupid? Yanking against the bonds hard enough to cut into his wrists John cursed. It should have been a warning enough that Sherlock had even offered him tea! Something about thanks for helping Molly sprang to mind but it had been stupid to take the drink. What could it have been?

“Valeriana officinalis. More commonly referred to as Valerian root. Used in certain perfumes but also a handy root that can be made into a rather potent tea. Wonderful sleep aid.” Sherlock stood at the door looking so proud of himself. At least he sounded proud. John took one glance at him and only saw the damn bastard who had drugged him.  
“Is there any point to me asking why I’m even here? Why you even thought drugging me was a good idea?!”

The door barely made a sound when it was closed but to John the noise echoed in his head, causing his body to tense and brain to search for the best means of protection.

“Mycroft thought sending me on this little drop-off mission would be enough to stimulate my boredom.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as if the concept were ludicrous before focusing clearly on John again. “You aren’t boring though. Not only that but having a doctor along on such a long trip East makes sense, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Something tells me Mycroft doesn’t just let you take prisoners whenever you want. So, this strikes me as a bit dense on your part.”

Wetness at his wrists had John cursed softly, forcing him to hold back on struggling until Sherlock took the few steps towards the bed. “Oh do calm yourself, John. This is a far better alternative than Adler buying you.”

Sherlock relaxed when John stopped struggling long enough for him to roll the man onto his stomach, which just prompted a further struggle. Blast. If he kept this up his wrists would be rubbed raw. Kneeling by his side on the bed he held a firm grip right before cutting the ropes. “Stop behaving like a brainless oaf. I know you’re not this stu-“

Falling off the bed Sherlock held a hand over his now throbbing cheek, where a foot had managed to connect so perfectly. In a matter of seconds John Watson had him pinned with a knife to the throat, his back pressing almost painfully into the wooden floor. The proud gleam in Johns eyes nearly had him laughing, or it would have if his face didn’t hurt so bad.

“Not boring at all.” He murmured.

“Irene Adler was going to buy me? For what exactly?” The slight press of the knife to his throat forced Sherlock to swallow more carefully.

Steady hands, unwavering expression. John really would kill him right now if the situation called for it. “Your Government wouldn’t pay, as you already knew. The woman already knew that and made an offer. She was quite charmed by you, John.” Leaving out the key details that it was mainly his doctoring skills that had attracted the womans attention.

Sherlock held his breath until doubt flickered in the others eyes. “Mycroft will know by now that you’re gone, and he’ll know where you are but he can’t send someone after you. Consider this my apology.”

John actually laughed at that but it wasn’t angry or dark, just an amused chuckle as he sat back on Sherlocks stomach to keep him pinned down. “Your apology? That implies you’ll actually be letting me go but I have a feeling your charitable nature has a limit.” He snorted in amusement. “Besides, I know you must be getting something out of this.”

“My crew might need a doctor.”

“Sherlock.”

“You aren’t boring.”

“You keep saying that! Is that your answer for everything?”

Silence now. John was tempted to force answers out but torture wasn’t his thing. It might have its merits but all it ever did for him was turn his stomach. Getting up he tossed the knife Sherlock had dropped onto the bed, offering his hand.

Instead of taking it the Captain merely pulled himself up, touching his sore face gingerly. Well, until he could find a better escape opening it made more sense to play nice. That could even help in the long run.

“Let me take a look at that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish it? Awesome. You're fantastic. Perfectly so. <3 And I love you for it.
> 
> Comments comments comments! Please and thank you so very much. If it's not too much trouble. Thank you again. Kudos are also loved but if you feel it doesn't deserve that then please tell me why.
> 
> If the story seemed a tad bit draggy I promise it won't next chapter. Big things happening next chapter. Promise!! Exciting stuff.
> 
> Also, how many people would be pissed if my first 'E' rating was for Mystrade? Johnlock will have their sexy time, cross my little'ol heart and hope to die but it seems like the first sexual encounter will be for Greg/Mycroft. Well, unless that really really pisses a lot of people off for some reason.


	5. No Regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, it is dubious consent between Mycroft and Greg. . for now. I will be adding that in the tags. :3
> 
> Un-betaed. Might be changing that next chapter and up. 
> 
> If you have a chance commenting would be just great. If it's not too much to ask.

It would be an understatement to say Greg was worried about John. What little information he could gather was that Sherlock had ‘borrowed’ John.

As if John was just another object that could be borrowed!

After that little outburst Mycroft had just looked at him with something close to pity. “For a man of your rank, not to mention age, you surely do harbor some naive thoughts in regards to human worth.” Maybe that was true to a degree but he wasn’t some child who had stumbled from his home yesterday. He’d killed plenty of men under orders, and had taken prisoners.

It just felt different with John. John wasn’t just another person but there was that naiveté again. To Mycroft, Sherlock, and everyone else on this island John Watson was just another body. He wasn’t their best mate or someone they had worked up in the world with.

 

“Sir? Captain Lestrade?” Molly finally reached out to touch his shoulder, laughing softly when he jumped slightly. “Master Holmes will be joining you shortly. Thought you’d like a chance to gather your thoughts.”

“Thanks, Molly. It’s just ‘Greg’ though. Bad enough the prat keeps calling me ‘Gregory’.” He sighed, offering a toothy grin. Over the last week or so of being forced into these strange, almost awkward, dinners a friendship had somewhat formed between him and the woman John had helped his first night here. Whenever Mycroft was late they chatted a bit. Nothing about her seemed suited for a whore. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen a decent woman take to a brothel to make ends meet though.

What little attempts he made to spark conversation fell flat until he just went silent, stomach twisting into knots with each passing second. Unable to stall further Molly was forced to leave, pausing only long enough to give him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

A few moments later the familiar ‘tapping’ of the elder brothers cane echoed loudly outside the door. “Gregory.”

“Mycroft.” He murmured, unmoving from his seat. Poor manners but everything felt too heavy. He had a lot to say but it was still conflicting. Running fingers through already silver colored hair Greg barely heard Mycroft ‘tsk’ while coming closer.

Now or never.

“Mycroft!” He stood quickly, hands on the table in front of him. His heart was pounding in his ears, making the thoughts just fall apart again. “Sherlock will bring John back. When he does I expect you to send John home when he is returned.”

Not waiting for an answer he turned around, meeting Mycrofts stunned gaze. “You will return Lady Sarah and her sisters on time, but I will remain here to make sure you keep your end of the bargain.”

Now Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Have we not had this discussion before? If the ransom isn’t paid I-“

“You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing here, Mycroft? I have what you want. I. . I am what you want.” Greg shivered when the others eyes narrowed on his face before drifting down over his form. So he’d been right about that.

Why was he acting like some blushing maid? He was Captain Gregory Lestrade! A man with who had earned his rank. A man who carried his loyalties to the grave.

Greg reached up to straighten the newest shirt given to him. The movement drew Mycrofts attention for a second before he scoffed, tapping the cane firmly against the floor. “Honestly, Gregory? Loyal ties between shipmates can only go so far. Nothing between you two has suggested it being more than friends.” Mycroft didn’t appear to care much for that idea, and neither did Greg for that matter. Guilt joined the twisted knot in his stomach, and something came to light. How had he not figured this out before?

“The injury then.” Mycroft murmured.

“I made a mistake. John came to my aid only to be struck down.” It sounded so simple and almost clean when said like that. “That isn’t what this is about. Why does it matter what my reasons are so long as you get what you want?”

He was Captain Gregory Lestrade. A man who followed through with the plans he made.

Stepping closer towards Mycroft he waited for the man to object, react, or just do something to say if this was pointless or not.

Soon there was barely any room between them. Now it just felt like Mycroft was testing him. Letting him do all the work.

Watching those lips curl into a smirk Greg felt anger bubble over. It was clearly the reason he reached out to grab the perfectly styled knot at the others throat, using it to pull him closer into a scorching kiss.

 

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought Gregory might come to this desperation. He just hadn’t thought it would actually be acted upon. Sometimes it was truly difficult to account for the human error that was sentiment.

Even with firm lips upon his own Mycroft stood there calmly, refusing to show how his heart raced or his very blood burned at the contact. Whenever his fingers twitched with the desire to claim he forced the feeling down.

Oh no, he wanted to see just how far Gregory could take this on his own.

The first gentle nip at his lower lip had the self-control slip further. Mycroft dug his thumb into a sharp edge of his cane, bringing him back down to earth somewhat as his lips parted under the kiss.

Gregorys first shiver and throaty moan was the breaking point.

The clanking fall of his cane to the floor went ignored, as did the gentle knocking taps at the door. He simply had to know the other noises of pleasure Gregory could make. Not just that. He needed to hear the man cry out his name.

Mycroft gripped the back of the others shirt, fingers of his other hand tangling in the silver mess of hair.

“Mycroft, door.” Gregs voice reached him but it was breathy, sending a tug straight to his groin.

“They won’t dare enter until I give the word.” Mycroft yanked his head back to lavish attention at the pale throat. Placing a kiss over Gregs pulse he couldn’t help but smirk, finally pressing fully against him.

He would have this proud Captain moaning for him soon enough. Let it carry over the entire island so everyone would hear!

How truly horrid he sounded. Sexual desire dulled even his brilliant mind at times it seemed.

“Take my chair, Gregory.” He ordered against Gregs throat, tongue darting out to lick over the increasing pulse. He could almost picture a bright hicky right there. A simply perfect brand. First things first though. “Gregory. Sit.” He growled, dropping his hands away.

 

For a moment Greg stood there struggling to stand. All the blood had seemingly drained from his brain in a rush.

Sit. Right. Mycroft had told him to sit.

The painful ache between his thighs was embarrassing. How could he find this enjoyable? Holmes was a pirate. A man!

Of course those cool eyes searched out every doubt the moment their eyes met. Greg stiffened in the chair as Mycroft knelt in front of him. He couldn’t go through with this. No matter what his body begged he couldn’t. Not when he was enjoying even a little bit of it.

“Hush your mind, Gregory.” Mycroft scoffed, cupping between his legs and squeezing only hard enough to draw out a pained hiss. “Excellent. If you truly feel the need to stop merely say ‘Apples’. Say that and we will cease.”

Without another word his lips replaced the kneading fingers, hands pulling the strong thighs apart as he sucked at the material.

“Mycroft. .” Greg hated the sound of his own voice in that instant.

Just one word. One word and Mycroft would stop. At least the pirate claimed he would stop.

“Oh God.” He panted, hips arching up as talented fingers undid the ties of his trousers. Glancing down he felt his world freeze in that moment. He couldn’t look away from Mycroft Holmes pulling him free, and he surely couldn’t ignore the feeling of warm fingers wrapping around the embarrassingly hard length of his cock.

“Bloody hell!” He swore, head falling back when those mocking lips took in the head. 

 

He tasted wonderful. Mycroft almost dared to use the term ‘perfect’ as he swallowed Lestrades cock deeper, eyes drifting shut to help him focus.

There was a particularly interesting vein running along the underside. For a few moments he found himself obsessed with teasing it. Pulling back finally to press his tongue against the leaking slit Mycroft smirked to himself when Greg gasped, wiggling as if trying to thrust back into his mouth.

This wonderful reaction over such little stimulation?

Mycroft allowed his mind to drift to thoughts of Gregory tied to his bed, eyes covered and body trembling. There would be no gag at first. He would make it impossible for Greg to hold back. He would make him beg to be taken over and over.

Mycroft pulled off of the dripping length with a somewhat messy ‘pop’. “Don’t bloody stop now!” Gregs flushed cheeks grew redder at the plea, his chest heaving. Oh, there were so many things he wanted to do to this beautiful creature.

“What would you have me do, Gregory? Think carefully. I will not always be so lenient.” Mycroft licked at a salty drop, fingers digging into Lestrades thighs to keep them spread.  
He could see the moment the inner struggle was lost. The sharp intake of breath as Greg now struggled to say what he wanted.

Glancing up his curiosity was peaked. “Should I simply send you back to your cell so that you may think it over again?” Mycroft threatened in a heated voice but the tone only caused Greg to tremble.

“Can’t remember how to pleasure a man?” Greg tossed out, glaring down at him.

How adorably pitiful.

Mycroft chuckled softly before swallowing the hard flesh down again. It wouldn’t take long and there would be time for punishments later.

The only sounds filling the room were Gregs labored breathing blending in with the wet sound of Mycrofts mouth on him.

 

Gentle tugs of warning at his hair went ignored as Mycroft increased his speed, nails digging into Greg thighs.

Mycroft sat back after giving a final swallow, licking his lips carefully. Reaching around he grabbed a napkin to get any excess off his chin but there wasn’t much really. Gregory had simply been too good to waste.

“Bloody bastard.” Greg cursed in a shaky voice, tensing when steady fingers grabbed his chin.

“Such language.”

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

It always began the same way. 

Him and Harry as children rushing down a dirt path. Their parents voices calling to them from further down. He tried to keep up. God he tried.

“Harry!” He called out when she ran ahead into the stirred up dust, far out of his sight. “HARRY!”

The scene changed to him choking on smoke and dust. Slowly suffocating on the stale stench of death. 

 

“John. John!” Eyes flying open it took a few minutes to realize this wasn’t the nightmare. John could feel the clammy coolness of sweat dripping down his forehead but it didn’t feel as mortifying as the heat making his eyes burn.

Okay. He was on a ship, a pirate ship actually, in the Captains cabin because he was still a prisoner. This wasn’t his nightmare exactly.

Sitting up to rub at his face John noticed Sherlock had gone back to his own bed. Not to sleep though. The man was almost inhuman with how little sleep he got.  
Clearing his throat briskly he gave a firm nod. “Thanks for that.” Just saying it hurt his throat. Had he been screaming again?

“The crew would have complained. While I find the bunch of uneducated rats somewhat deplorable it is necessary to keep them from mutiny.” Most likely a lesson from Mycroft. Sherlocks own disgusted tone showed little care towards his crew.

“Right then.” John licked at his lower lip, tasting copper. Reaching up to dab away blood from the little cut on his lip he looked away from the long form spread out on the bed.  
“Thank you anyway.” Even if it went in one ear and out the other it felt better to say it.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he tried to get comfortable again. One of the things taken from years sailing had to be get sleep whenever possible. It just wasn’t coming easily now.

His ears perked at the soft sound of Sherlock moving from the bed, his bare feet tapping lightly on the floor. Without warning the familiar sound of the violin started up. John had been rather surprised a pirate Captain would know how to play such an instrument, and so skillfully as well. The Holmes brothers weren’t like other pirates though. They weren’t even like other men.

John kept his back to Sherlock in an attempt to feign sleep but all his attention was for the man at his back. Even without seeing he could picture the way Sherlocks long fingers caressed the violin, and the look of blissful concentration. For a man with the attention span of a child that violin was the only thing he never seemed to become bored with.

 

The instant the man relaxed into sleep Sherlock ceased playing. Like soothing a child with pretty music. Setting the violin back into a custom made case Sherlock went back to his spot on the bed, eyes closed but body tense.

It had been a little uncomfortable to think so hard with someone else sharing his quarters. The few times he’d gone on a mind sweeping tangent John had sat there in an awed like state, throwing out words like ‘Brilliant!’ or ‘Amazing!’ randomly.

It was horribly foolish to think they had settled into something of a rhythm together. Every once in a while he would allow himself to be a little foolish. Namely when John scolded him for not eating enough or not taking care of himself. Obviously merely Johns doctoral nature coming forth. The man even treated the crew without as much as a complaint.  
Sherlock gave a small sigh of annoyance at himself. It was hard to think with the soft breathing so close by. There wouldn’t be another nightmare tonight but a few times he looked over for any trace of the shaking that started before the screaming.

How pathetic was he? Actually listening to John fall into a deeper sleep that resulted with little snores.

Maybe this had been a mistake. Exploring the mind that was John Watson was proving to be a bit of a problem. An unprecedented error he’d never come across before.

 

Barefoot on deck Sherlock glanced once at the man behind the wheel, making sure it wasn’t just a sleeping body. “Everything alright, Captain?”

“You might want to have our doctor look at that case of whatever you picked up from our time in port.” Sherlock replied. It had been too easy to notice the awkward way the man pressed his legs together, sometimes even snagging a quick scratch down below. Childs play. No doubt too embarrassed to talk with a doctor for fear of it getting out. Had to be from the mans wife as all of Irenes women were clean. 

_“Clean enough to eat off of, darling.”_

The womans voice brought a smirk to his face before he continued further along deck. He could hear the man stuttering behind him. Maybe it had been going a bit far but it hadn’t been in front of the crew so it wasn’t that bad, right?

Ugh. These social problems just never went away, did they?

Finding nowhere else on deck to go he went to check on the shipment of rum. His men knew better than to touch anything they were going to sell but Sherlock could honestly say he wouldn’t trust those men based on their word alone.

 

Sherlock felt rather than saw something was off. The cold floor sent chills all the way to his spine but the adrenaline had him venturing further.

The body hung there almost blending into the shadows. For a moment he didn’t even think it was really there.

“John! JOHN!”

Using the stepping stool kicked to the side Sherlock managed to cut the body down with an undignified ‘thump’. John had joined him by that point, looking somewhat pale at walking in as the body fell. On a whim he knelt by the limp man, placing his fingers gently where signs of life should be.

 

Nothing. John cursed softly as he scanned the body, unaware of other crew members that had come at their Captains calling.

Glancing up he noticed Sherlock on the other side of the body, ignoring his crew and their questions. Oh, honestly! Bloody twat. “Sherlock, your crew. Shouldn’t you say something?” He suggested calmly.

“With their combined brain power surely it’s fairly obvious what we’re doing.” Sherlock replied, tilting the dead mans chin back to get a closer look at his neck.

Alright then.

Standing quickly he turned to the crew lingering. A few glared at him accusingly, and some merely looked at the mans body with someone close to horror. Death as a pirate could come in many ways but many of them were, surprisingly, religious men. Taking your own life was a sin few could dare consider.

Licking his lips slightly John cleared his throat to get everyones attention.

Sherlocks sudden appearance next to him was what got all eyes on them. Instead of solemn words before a swift burial at sea Captain Holmes regarded everyone coolly. “If you can find time to stand around you can find time to work. Go!”

“Captain, we need to take care of the body first.” There were hums of agreement that went silent as Sherlock stood straighter, inhuman eyes growing narrow.

“Sher-Captain, I think they’re right. The man deserves that much.” John said softly, frowning when Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down. What game was he playing at?

“I know you are not nearly as blind as these fools. Take a closer look at the body.”

What was he suggesting? Ignoring further interaction between captain and crew John knelt back down, pulling one eye open and feeling his blood freeze.

Whatever had killed this man it had been before Sherlock had found him hanging from the support beam.

Okay. So, someone had killed this man. Most likely not an accident since they went through so much trouble to hide it.

“Strychnine.” John murmured to himself. “Did you see anything?” He asked, looking up only to find Sherlock gone and him alone. Right then, somehow this wasn’t a surprise.

After a few minutes of waiting John gave a frustrated grunt, torn between leaving and staying with the body. They knew he had been murdered but they couldn’t just leave him. Poking his head outside he was surprised to find Angelo waiting by the door, looking half asleep on his feet.

“Oi! John, aye? Cap’n didn’t say you’d be waiting around. Just told me to make sure no one got in.” He chuckled warmly.

“Right. Yes. Where is Captain Holmes?”

With a shrug Angelo yawned softly. “Last I saw’im he was heading back to his room.”

 

Polite society might say he should have knocked but why waste something that would go straight over Sherlocks head.

Sherlock was pacing around the room like a caged animal, curls even more frazzled than usual. A few moments of watching the man rake long fingers through the mess made it clear as to why. His eyes were wild, voice alternating between mumbled comments and questions that John was positive weren’t meant for him.

Shutting the door loudly didn’t draw the mans attention so John sat at the desk in the corner, simply observing. Somehow it wasn’t boring watching the other think like this. It was thrilling. Impressive. Sherlock had a mind John had never encountered before. Why was he even a pirate?

“Stop it.” Sherlock grumbled.

“What am I doing?” He huffed in confusion, crossing his arms.

“You’re distracting. You think too loud. Out! Go! I need to go to my Mind Palace!”

Sherlocks outburst wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was the fact it wasn’t surprising to him. It was horribly annoying, more than that really, but it didn’t surprise him.  
As brilliant as he found Sherlock he also found the man just as likely to grind on his nerves. Anything he said went ignored until he was forced out on deck, only able to grab his shoes.

 

Alone. Yes. That’s what he needed right now.

Standing at the porthole overlooking the water Sherlock folded his hands carefully under his chin, eyes closed tightly. 

1\. Strychnine poisoning.  
2\. Everyone he’d talked to claimed they hadn’t seen anything.  
3\. The dead man (Niles. . Nick, that didn’t matter) had been a new face among them.  
4\. No signs of struggle.  
5\. Most likely done by more than one person. Niles/Nick hadn’t been a small man by any means, and dead weight would be even worse.  
6\. Strychnine took at least an hour or so to fully kill. That meant the killer had stayed there, watching, until his crewmate had finally passed.

That suggested someone who could handle watching a man convulse himself to death. Most of his men handled killing well, it was part of their job at points but this hadn’t been for a chance at more riches.

Murder for the sake of murder? Boring!

No. This had been done on a ship, and not exactly a ship with dozens of people around. This had been a very risky murder.

Murder for the enjoyment of killing? It was too clean.

Not crime done in the heat of the moment, obviously. The poison had to have been prepared, not to mention snuck on the ship.

Emerging finally Sherlock blinked hard against the bright light. Already mid-day?

Filing that bit of information away he focused attention on the crew. They were bothered by something. Oh yes, the body was still where he’d ordered it to remain. They saw it as bad luck. Superstitious fools. Besides that there was no sign as to whom had done it.

Disgust, frustration. Those were two of the biggest emotions he could read on them. How interesting.

“Captain.”

Glancing over at the man Sherlock roll his eyes. “If you are here to fill my head with nonsense superstition in regards to the burial, or lack of, kindly save it.”

Dickens, if he remembered correctly, frowned openly. “Captain! It was bad enough you tempting fate with having those women on board last time but just letting the poor man rot without a proper burial. It’s. . it’s wrong.”

Frustration started bubbling up as he turned to fully face the man, glaring down at him. Everything he wanted to shout would go in one ear and out the other. This buffoon wouldn’t understand a blasted word!

“Tell John to meet me where it is.”

Angelo was still lingering outside the door, chatting up anyone that dared stop for a second. When they noticed Captain Holmes they took on the appearance of scattering ants. “You may go.” He waved the chatty man away, glad when he said nothing more than ‘Aye-aye, sir’.

The body was exactly as they’d left it. More obvious signs of decomposition would take a little longer to set in.

 

He was pacing around the body when John walked in, hard set to his jaw. “They asked you to speak with me? I must admit, John, the rate at which you’ve gained my crews loyalty is something.” He already sounded bored. Not surprising but it was something.

“Sherlock, you should tell them this was a murder. Sherlock! Are you listening to me?” John asked, watching the man kneel by the body and move it around. “And his name was Oliver. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

 

Making their way into port days later the crew were acting noticeably distant towards their captain, even more so than usual. Pirates, as John was learning personally, were more like the men he’d sailed with than previously thought. Some of the open hostility had settled after Oliver had been put out to sea for burial.

Sherlock wasn’t helping with how focused he was on trying to find the killer. No one gave anything away. There were no traces anywhere on the ship of the poison or who might have had it. Someone must have done it! The man couldn’t have simply poisoned himself and then put himself on the other end of that rope.

Logically he should have told his men the truth and ordered them to remain on the ship until they were stocked up enough to head back. What fun would that have been?

Heart pounding he watched a few men leave the ship, branching out to either the line of barely dressed whores hanging around the docks, or to the pubs. He could feel John glaring at him.

“Murder isn’t a game. What if someone else dies?”

What was he supposed to say to that? The truth was he was chancing it, and why? Because it was less boring this way. John didn’t understand how his mind needed something to focus on like this.

The silence stretched out until John shook his head, leaving Sherlock standing at the railing alone.

##### XxXx

John turned away from the hand shaking him. Why was this person trying to wake him? It couldn’t be time for morning duties yet.

“John! John! Wake up!”

Wait.

“Sherlock? Bloody hell. What the hell do you want?” John groaned, opening his eyes before jerking to the side and cursing. Sherlock had been so close he could have almost counted the gold flecks in his damned eyes.

Seemingly unbothered by John currently asking him how deranged he was Sherlock headed for the door, breathing heavily from excitement. Pausing at the door he glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Busy, John?” And with that he was gone, leaving the door wide open behind him.

John sat there in a dazed like state. Had that really just happened? Why would Sherlock wake him up in what appeared to be the middle of the night? Had he found something else out?

Without much thought John found himself re-dressed and hurrying after Sherlock, sore shoulder and leg forgotten. The man moved like a shadow, a long cape John had never seen before billowing after him.

Why was this man a pirate? As they came to a stop a few corners away from the docks he found himself asking that question again.

“What are we doing out here?”

Inhuman blue eyes flashed silver with pulsing excitement. “Chasing down a murderer. Do try and keep up.”

What? Everything in his mind seemed to blank out at that. “The one from the ship?” He asked stupidly, earning a contemptuous glare.

“Honestly. I had thought you were more observant than the others.” Sherlock grumbled in annoyance.

 

The night ended closer to dawn, and with John washing more blood off his hands. They’d gotten separated at some point and John had found the cocky bastard squaring off with a man from the ship. Something about a 50/50 chance at winning.

One thing had become clear from overhearing their conversation. Oliver on the ship hadn’t been the first, nor the last, victim. And he was intending on trying to get Sherlock on that list.

Maybe killing him should have left him with a sense of guilt but it didn’t. 

“Failed navigator.” Sherlock commented on their way back to the ship.

“Knew him, then?” He murmured.

“Not in the least. He led me here but we passed the same whorehouse twice.”

It wasn’t exactly witty or clever but they both gave small chuckles that slowly turned into a soft case of the giggles.

“We shouldn’t laugh! Completely inappropriate time to laugh.” John tried to sound serious but the grin gave it away completely.

Unbothered by the course of events Sherlock straightened, brushing out the wrinkles in his shadow colored cape. Walking back to the ship Watson found himself unwilling to question what had made him kill for this man. He just knew he didn’t regret it for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you read through to the end? Awesome. You're fantastic. :3
> 
> Comments comments comments. Please and thank you. Kudos are also great but if you feel the story doesn't deserve that yet I completely understand, and would love to know why. If it's not too much trouble for you. I'm honestly just happy you're reading.
> 
> Again, I hope you're enjoying the story so far.


	6. Logic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost I would like to thank audreyneedsacase. Wonderfully understanding Beta. I need to go through and edit the chapters she edited/looked over. Thank you thank you thank you!! I hope you're pleased with the changes I made.
> 
> Now, thank you to everyone who is still reading this. I really hope you enjoy everything. Comments/Kudos are nice if you have time. If not I totally understand.

Shoving out of port Sherlock stood there seemingly watching them leave land behind. Actually he was more focused on what the dead crewman had said. Implied really but it had been there.

Verbal dribbles about spiders in their webs. There was only one thing he could have meant. Only one person he could have been talking about.

Skin over his lower spine tingled painfully, reminding him of the mistakes of youth. Each wave of remembered pain only had Sherlock cursing himself very loudly in his head. There were mistakes he would never make again.

The fact was they needed to reach home sooner rather than later.

“The game is on.” He murmured as the pain lessened, replaced by pulsing adrenaline.

 

Darkening skies promised a storm, threatening to de-rail their speedy trip home. As the first drops started to fall there were suggestive whispers this was retribution for the mockery Sherlock had been tossing heavenward. Whatever misfortune befell them it would be because of Sherlock Holmes.

Anyone who said they should turn around within earshot of Sherlock were pointedly ignored. As it grew darker the wind picked up pace, waves starting to bash against the sides of their ship.

“Tie the sails down.” Sherlock murmured after hours of silence.

When everyone kept running around not carrying out his orders his blood grew hot as he turned to watch. “Tie down the damned sails! Are you lot as deaf as you are stupid?!” His voice carried in an echoing roar.

 

John could feel the tension threatening to bubble over. The crew had become very unhappy with their captain, and the fools that said this storm was somehow Sherlock's fault were only adding fuel to the fire. Licking his lower lip he nodded sharply when their eyes met for a second.

“You heard him. He’s right. We need to tie the sails down!” 

They were all seasoned sailors. This wasn’t their first storm. Everything they did should have been enough. As the ship was pushed helplessly against the crashing waves John found himself remembering the bitter lesson that years at sea meant nothing in the right storm. You could do everything right but fate could pluck anyone up without a care.  
Rain and saltwater soaked through almost to his bones, weighing him down as he ran across the deck. Taking a spill John lied there winded for a moment, lungs burning. They wouldn’t last much longer. The thought chilled him more than the freezing water ever could but that didn’t mean he’d just lie there. Pushing upward he was merely flung back to the deck as the ship came to a jarring halt, the sound of crunching wood filling him with horror.

Finally standing John rushed over to Sherlock, wiping water out of his eyes as one of the crewmen started screaming at Holmes. “We’re caught on bloody rocks! I highly doubt Captain Holmes had anything to do with this!” He snapped in frustration, standing tall even at his shorter stature.

“He might as well have! Bringing all this bad luck on us!”

Sherlock looked at the man with a heavy dose of disgust and annoyance, as if this man's lack of intelligence were his biggest problem.

“If we hit the rocks as hard as I think we did we only have an hour or so before the ship takes on too much water.” John said, jaw tensing when Captain Holmes silver-blue eyes glared down at him.

“I am fully aware. There’s an island not far from here. Rock formations like this tend to only form nearby land.”

The ignored crewman started yelling over the storm, drawing attention from everyone. _This was Sherlock's fault. He was a horrible captain who had brought the wrath of God upon them all_. John didn’t realize he was stepping between the taller men until someone else grabbed his wrist, throwing him down sharply.

“You and this pet of yours can rot here. Maybe the sea will be pleased enough with you to spare us.” Cheers of agreement followed the man's statement.

The last thing John felt was a sharp blow to the back of his head, and the last thing he heard was Sherlock calling out to him. Now, that couldn’t possibly be real. He sounded so worried. John chuckled weakly as the world went fuzzy, only barely catching sight of Sherlock stepping towards him.

 

Contrary to popular belief Sherlock felt many things. Boredom being chief among those ‘feelings’. One thing he rarely felt was a good dose of terror. If his own life was in danger it merely meant he wasn’t bored.

Watching those bastards handle John Watson's limp body towards the railing of the ship Sherlock felt scared. Firm hands held him back from stopping the others, forcing him to watch as they tossed John overboard. The white noise always there in his brain stopped for half a second, leaving him numb and unable to hear the threats aimed at him.  
Yanking out of their grip he ran only for the railing, pausing only long enough to know there were jagged rocks waiting at the bottom.

“Let them rot below. The sea took her price.” One of them grumbled as they watched Sherlock jump overboard.

There was an island nearby. He should have taken the chance to find some trace of it before diving overboard into this damnable ocean. He should have found a trace of the damn island before trying to find John.

The first few seconds after hitting the water were cold, disorientating. The salt burned his eyes, making it harder to see but he had to find John. A rough wave tossed him like a doll, crushing air from his lungs and forcing Sherlock to come up for another gasp of air. Even then he should have looked for the island before diving back down, eyes burning and heart pounding as he searched for any trace of why he’d suddenly become so stupid.

Ignoring the painful burning in his lungs begging for air Sherlock followed the blurred shape sinking further down. In a desperate surge he reached out, grabbing the limp wrist and tugging the smaller body towards the surface.

Churning waves seemed hell-bent on yanking John from his grasp, causing his entire arm to ache from the strain.

With so much dead weight the most Sherlock could do was manage to get them onto one of the more level rocks. He could feel water sharpened edges cut into his palms as he pulled them up. “John!” He coughed; feeling at the limp mans pulse point and shivering at the small but hopeful ‘thump’.

John gave a pitiful cough before Sherlock could roll him over, helping remove the water from his lungs. “Sher-Sherlock. .” John gasped before a fresh wave of coughs stole whatever else he was going to say.

Seemingly no permanent damage. Sherlock used his body to shield against a wave, mentally wincing at the burning sea water on his bloody hands. Nothing serious. He could flex his fingers easily.

“Are you still able to swim?” He asked as his eyes scanned the open ocean in front of them. It was hard to see through the rain but there was something so very close by. It was suicide to swim now but it was just as stupid to stay here. That ship was slowly sinking even as they lingered, and the feeding frenzy it would attract. .

Logic told him his chances would increase without Johns weight to drag him down. His chances were slim but higher without the still dazed man clinging to him.

“Hold onto me.” Sherlock ordered, keeping an arm secured tightly around John's waist as they got back into the water.

 

John couldn’t remember the swim, and barely what had happened before that. When he finally awoke it was to a pounding in his skull that made him almost wish for death. Each throb helped the memory come back clearer until he could see it fully. Someone had hit him but what about after that?

Opening his eyes slowly he frowned at the canopy of giant leaves shielding out the sun. Feeling around at his sides he felt sand and soft grass.

An island?

“Sherlock. .” The mere sound of his own voice had him hissing in pain, rolling over to one side as he held his head in his hands. Carefully John felt over the bump on the back of his head, glad there wasn’t anything in his stomach to come up.

Whatever they had hit him with it had been with no hesitation. “Bloody pirates.” He grumbled, sitting up slowly only to lean back against one of the trees next to him. “Sherlock!” He tried again with a throat raw from salt water.

“I would think a seasoned military man would know better than to give his location away in an area where it’s not confirmed if there’s hostiles or not.”

That was oddly the most comforting thing he could have heard then. “Piss off.” John chuckled weakly, looking up as Sherlock knelt beside him. “You wouldn’t have left me so exposed if you were worried about hostiles.” He added, allowing the taller man to tilt his head forward.

“Sight alright? No problem with your hearing?” Sherlock poked and prodded every inch of his head painfully.

“I’m the bloody doctor, Sherlock. It’s just a basic head injury.” He said firmly, growing stiff at the sight of one of Sherlock's hands. Reaching out to grab one pale wrist John examined the angry red cuts.

Sherlock knelt there awkwardly, allowing the other to look at his hand. “Our biggest priority is finding water. My pointless injuries are of no concern.”

“Let me see your other hand.”

“John.”

“Sherlock, let me see your bloody hand!”

More than a little reluctantly the other hand was offered, and John frowned. Not very serious but he didn’t like how warm to the touch they felt. “This happened when you were. . saving me?”

In a sharp move Sherlock pulled his hand free, cheeks flushed a pale pink as he stood.

Giving himself a mental kick John tried to stand, nearly falling back down with the wobbling of his knees. A swift arm was around his waist in a familiar gesture. Neither said anything else as they went further into the jungle, John allowing Sherlock to take lead.

No signs of human life, and barely any animal life. Most likely hiding for the time being. Even this jungle hadn’t been spared the hell of last night's storm. Raindrops still dripped from long leaves, causing both men to wish for warmer clothes whenever one fell on the right spot.

 

However when Sherlock found the water source John was just grateful for it. A small waterfall connected to a clear river. It honestly made him want to thank whatever Deity might be listening. “You genius.” He chuckled, falling to his knees beside the water and cupping his hands to bring water up to his mouth. 

Little pink blossoms swayed at the corner of his vision but something wasn’t right about this. After swallowing the mouthful of water John picked one of the little flowers, holding it up for Sherlock. “Do you know what this is?”

“Canary island sage.” It was plucked easily from his hand but there were plenty more on the other side of the water. “Indigenous to only one island.”

“So, who exactly brought it here?”

Holding the offending flower in the palm of his hand Sherlock frowned. There had been no traces of any sort of human civilization but these flowers forced him to question that. “Whatever settlement had been here is gone now. No more than five people in total. Ship wreck. The wild growth of these flowers suggests about four, no five, years at least.”

“Maybe they were found and rescued from the island. Obviously couldn’t take the flowers with them.” John said, standing slowly. When he started to stumble Sherlock was fast to grab onto him, supporting the shorter but stockier weight. The slight change of breathing was an interesting sign but John was already pulling away, giving a polite smile and nod. “Better now. Thanks.”

“Right.” He said with a curt nod in return. “As it stands you are in no condition to do what I need you to do. It would be best if you found some sort of cover and wait for me there.”

“Hold on a minute. I’m the bloody doctor, and I think I’m perfectly fine to walk around the island until we find something.”

“You will only get in my way!” Sherlock regretted the words almost before they came flying out. Biting the inside of his cheek hard he stepped forward, tensing when John held up a hand. “John. .”

“If that’s how you see it then fine. I’ll be around here, hiding.” John spat the last word out angrily as he turned away.

What was the appropriate response? Apologize? Leave it alone?

In the end Sherlock sighed and went off, mentally kicking himself. He hadn’t meant it in the way John was taking it. He was still reeling from that blasted blow to the head. It wouldn’t do him any good to walk around the island in such a state. And how was he supposed to focus while. . while worrying! Raking frustrated fingers through tangled curls Sherlock relished the bite of pain.

 

The second form of human settlement came in the form of a make-shift fence surrounding three mounds of dirt. Most of it was overgrown with wild vegetation, confirming Sherlock's time estimate. Three graves so there had to have been someone to bury them.

“Is there anyone there?” Sherlock called out, listening to his voice carry through the trees. Glancing up at the sky he debated carrying on further. Whoever had carried the bodies had cared enough to set up this ‘proper’ burial space, so they would want their loved ones near to some degree.

Sherlock tensed right before a soft growl reached his ears. The sound was very much animalistic but not exactly wild.

Turning around slowly his heart gave a jolt at the animal before him. Chocolate brown eyes glared up at him but the creature didn’t seem ready to attack. “Hello there.” He kept his voice low and soft as he knelt down, holding out a hand with curled fingers. “Come here. It’s perfectly okay.”

The dog tilted its head slightly, stepping forward before backing away with another growl. “Come here, girl.” Sherlock smiled warmly as she came closer, sniffing his hand before invading his personal space to lick at his face. Falling back into a sitting position he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sit.” Right away she sat, tail still wagging behind her.

“Small Münsterländer. Female. Must be around ten years old. Trained. You’re a beautiful one, aren’t you?” Sherlock praised, scratching one of her ears gently. Poor thing hadn’t been groomed in a good while, suggesting the last person of this group had passed some time ago.

This breed was normally reserved for a noble family to use on a hunt. Useful thing to find. “Come on, girl.”

Standing up he started back the way he’d come, pausing only once when the dog whimpered. Torn between leaving whatever was further back and following him. “Come on.” He tried again, snapping his fingers. With a bark the dog was at his side, following along. Patches of her chestnut spotted fur were matted, and the tuft of fur along her tail could use a good washing.

Beyond that seemingly in good health.

 

“You brought back a. . dog?”

“Your observation skills have apparently remained unaffected by your accident.” Sherlock said with a dramatic roll of the eyes, kneeling down to start pulling tangles loose from the dog's fur. If he were honest he was somewhat impressed with the thrown together shelter John had managed to make, and even a small fire.

John shook his head with a small laugh that only got louder when both Sherlock and the dog looked at him in confusion. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Let me see your hands.”

Expecting an argument he was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock just huffed before holding his hands out. Not as bad as he’d feared. Grabbing the right hand first John poked gently, feeling the warmth. After doing the same with the left he nodded, heading towards the river. “Not infected but I still don’t like how warm they feel.”

Parts of his shirt had been ripped into bandages that were almost completely dried on the grass. Not perfect conditions but better than nothing. Bending over to gather up the scraps his head gave a little throb. Without warning he felt sturdy arms go around his waist to help him stand.

“John?”

“I’m good, Sherlock. Completely fine.” He tried pulling away to prove the point but the pounding in his head grew worse.

Coming back to himself John found something holding him up and something cold being pressed to his lips. The water tasted so good. Waking up further his stomach knotted awkwardly at finding himself being supported in a sitting position by one of Sherlock's arms, and finding Sherlock using his hand to help him drink.

Sitting up straighter he touched the small knot at the back of his head, wincing. Still tender. “Let me see.” The voice was gentle, coaxing.

“I’m not a dog.” John sighed but his hand fell away as slender fingers touched the spot, the deep voice ‘humming’ softly above him.

Next to him sat the newest member of their group, a wet nose sniffing at his cheek before he started rubbing at the top of her head. “Where did you find her?”

“In a graveyard or the attempt of a graveyard.” He sounded so calm about it John almost thought he’d misheard.

“Graveyard? You didn’t think to mention that sooner?”

“Didn’t exactly come up, did it? If there were anyone for her to go back to she wouldn’t have followed me. Tomorrow she can lead both of us wherever her owners had formed a camp.”

There were other things to discuss. Bigger things. They were stranded on an island that most likely wasn’t on a standard route. How long would they be here? What about the ship? The crew?

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Something about the other night's storm had Greg feeling sick. It had even prevented Mycroft from sending for him, which was another mess unto itself. Would Mycroft bother sending for him tonight? From the high barred window Greg had gathered enough information to know the elder Holmes brother had been elbow deep in trying to sort this mess out.

Around the corner he could hear Lady Sarah and her sisters whispering excitedly. Why wouldn’t they be happy? Tomorrow morning they would be leaving for home. Well, first the halfway point where they’d be surrendered. A part of him was a little regretful he wouldn’t be with them but not until John was brought back.

“Captain Lestrade?” He couldn’t help but grin at his title. What he wouldn’t give to just be back on his bloody ship.

“Yes, my lady?”

“You will be returning home to London soon, won’t you? With Doctor Watson?”

“I swear on my life I’ll do the best I can, my lady. Should I give your regards to Doctor Watson when he returns?” John had always had better luck with women. A fact Greg had grown used to over the years.

“I would appreciate that very much, Captain.”

John couldn’t hope to make a better match than Lady Sawyer. The ping of jealousy burnt out almost in the same breath it came to life.

The woman who called herself ‘Athena’ was already walking towards his cell. Even she looked tired, which made him wonder what type of mood Mycroft would be in. Surprisingly they hadn’t progressed much from the night he had offered himself to the pirate.

They’d have dinner, Mycroft would tease him a bit until he was nearly red in the face, and then that taunting mouth would drive him up the wall with pleasure. Not once had Mycroft demanded the favor be returned. A few times Greg had. . considered it.

 

“Are the women still being taken back tomorrow?” Greg asked after getting an eyeful of the damage the storm had done. 

Instead of answering him Athena merely led him to the same room where he could clean up, giving the same instructions as always. “Real charmer you are.” He grumbled in annoyance before the door shut, smirking at her chuckle.

After a quick shave, wash, and change Greg opened the door to find “Molly?”

“Ms. Athena was called away. Speaking of which, Mr. Holmes might be a bit late tonight.” She said with an apologetic smile and shrug.

Maybe Mycroft wouldn’t even show up. Wasn’t that just a bag of mixed feelings.

“A storm like this so late in the season caught everyone by surprise. Irene was nearly in a fit at how many windows got smashed.” Molly rambled as they walked. “No one was killed but Doctor Anderson had his hands full with broken arms and legs this morning.”

Greg smiled at how excited she sounded when going on about helping the doctor. It seemed a perfect fit for someone with so much to offer. “He should take you on as an apprentice of sorts. Judging by what you say you’re there enough anyway.”

Molly blushed lightly with a nervous giggle. “I’d love to do it. My dad was a mortician and I used to help around the shop.”

“Then you should talk to Anderson about it. You’d be great at it.” He said, squeezing her shoulder.

Another time he might have found Molly one of the cutest women he’d ever met. She was soft spoken with a feisty kick, smart, kind. Something just held him back.

Like usual everything was spread out neatly, right down to the lit candles. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?” Molly chirped, heading straight over to pour Greg his own glass of wine.

Greg felt his gut knot at how calm she was about this. Molly knew why he was brought here almost every night, even seemed to know the details about why he was allowing it. “Strange?” He asked, tensing under her cheerful look.

“Maybe this is saying too much. Irene calls it ‘Lover's Illusion’. When the people who. . buy us go the extra mile and do things like this. As if they’re trying to add a layer to make it more real.” She explained, setting the bottle down. “There, perfect. I’ll be right back.”

It took his brain a second to register he was alone. So busy playing over and over what Molly had said. It was true, and he wasn’t angry with her. Just close to disgusted with himself. It would be over soon enough. This whole thing would be a giant blot that he’d never have to worry about again.

 

By about the fourth glass of wine Greg could almost believe that. The food sat in front of him just growing colder, the few bites he’d tried just sitting a little too heavy in his gut. So, by the time Mycroft Holmes made his appearance Greg was already picturing himself at a ball thrown by Lord Sawyer. The soft figure of one of the daughters pressed against him as they danced, her cheeks flushed with color.

“My my. Have I come at a bad time?”

Now a shiver of warmth ran down his spine at the chilling voice. The wine glass was plucked from his limp fingers easily, pushed a little bit from his grasp.  
“Oi. That really necessary, Mycroft?”

Mycroft took the usual seat across from him, face relaxing ever so slightly as he eased into the chair. He did look older tonight. Like always everything about him looked perfectly put together but Greg could see the trace of fatigue he tried to hide.

Standing up he went around to Mycroft's side of the table, placing both hands firmly on the armrests of Holmes chair. “You’re always picking people apart. How about I give it a shot? You’re about to drop dead on your bloody feet.”

The man kept his expression completely blank as he looked up at Greg, sniffing as if less than amused. “On what grounds do you make these deductions, Gregory?”

“Common sense, you twat.” Greg chuckled, leaning closer. He almost thought Holmes would push him away when his lips didn’t so much as soften under the kiss. A little brush of his tongue was all the coaxing Mycroft seemed to require.

His hands ran over the rich silks Mycroft was fond of wearing before he started undoing the buttons, groaning when his actions were stopped. “Gregory.”  
“Oh, please be so kind as to shut it.” He tried to make it sound like Mycroft but it fell apart towards the end. “Just let me do this, alright?”

 

Mycroft had walked into his home to be greeted with foolish gossip that Gregory and Molly were becoming a bit too close for friendship. The idea was beyond ludicrous but something in his brain had actually bristled at the idea of finding Molly Hooper wrapped around Gregory.

Adding to the monstrously horrendous events of the last twenty-four hours it hadn’t left him in the best mind set.

With Gregory making such a display of himself though, he could feel his mood improving with each kiss. Even with it heavily tainted by the after taste of wine it was delicious, almost sweet. “Gregory, you can hardly stay standing.” He scolded, trying to push him off.

Lips at his throat were a rather nice distraction. Even knowing if Gregory kept sucking right there it would be sure to leave a mark.

Up to this point their ‘relationship’ had been him pleasuring the captured Captain until he melted. While it left him more than a little frustrated it was endearing to watch a man as controlled as Gregory Lestrade melt under his touch. More than once he’d been tempted to keep the man until morning but it was crucial in Lestrade's mind that the ladies never caught so much as a hint. Tomorrow that would change since they would be gone.

“You’re a right pain in the arse, you know that?” Greg chuckled into his ear before nipping sharply at the soft lobe. “A right bloody pain.” He said again when Mycroft moaned softly.

“And, yet, you sound hardly disgusted. Don’t try to fool me, Gregory.” He replied, reaching between Lestrades legs. As he’d already known the man was painfully aroused, almost falling into him when his fingers wrapped around the covered length. Tilting his head Mycroft listened to the other make those charming little noises as he moved his hand along the front of his breeches.

A trembling hand removed his hand to place it back on its respective armrest. It was a little surprising to suddenly find Gregory at his feet, cheeks flushed from a mix of drinking, embarrassment, and arousal.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft sighed, grasping the man's chin gently to turn his face upward.

 

In a haughty display of defiance Greg yanked his chin out of the soft grip, already undoing the front part of Mycroft's trousers. “You’re the bloody genius. Figure it out.” He snapped before leaning down and wrapping his lips around the semi-hard member.

Greg had never really considered this before. Maybe in passing thought after running across a bloke that just couldn’t be ignored but he’d never sat back and wondered what it would actually be like.

It was different. A musky taste that wasn’t altogether terrible. The sharp salty/bitter tasting liquid at the tip wasn’t as terrible as he would have thought either.

When Mycroft arched forward he was surprised at the arousal it caused. Moaning around the hard cock Greg tried to remember things he’d always enjoyed. Hell, it was almost impossible to think! He shouldn’t be enjoying this but whenever Mycroft made any noise of pleasure he felt happy.

Pulling back he used his hand to take up where his mouth had been, sliding back the foreskin before he swirled his tongue around the tip.

“Gregory!” He normally hated people using his real name but the way Mycroft used it was only encouraging. Moving his hand faster Greg found his eyes glued to Mycroft's face, watching the way his stormy blue eyes glazed over before realizing he was being watched.

Greg winced when a hand went to his hair, grabbing at the silver strands. “Do keep looking. You adore watching your handy work.” Mycroft chuckled in a breathy voice. Keeping eye contact Greg took the cock back between his lips, letting the other control how deep.

Mycroft broke first, head falling back as he groaned softly. He must be getting closer. Should he pull away? Swallow? God, he didn’t know what to do now.

With a final cry from Mycroft his mouth was filled with hot liquid. Swallowing down most of it he pulled away to gasp for air, wincing when some of it landed on his cheek.

 

They both seemed frozen in place for a second. Struggling with their own internal conflicts. “I must say, Captain Lestrade, for a first time you were more than satisfactory.” Mycroft chuckled, reaching over to pluck a napkin from the table. Gently he cleaned away the mess on Greg's face, saying nothing else. The wine was starting to wear off now, and with it the dulled edge of thought.

“I think I shall retire to my quarters early this evening. Do you care to join me, Gregory?” He asked, unsurprised when the man pulled away to stand.  
“Why are you bothering to ask? We both know if you told me to I have to. I’m not fooled by any of this.”

Watching the way Gregory turned away he gave an internal growl of frustration. He was honestly tired. Unlike his little brother he allowed his body to rest when it needed to do so but social obligations suggested leaving Lestrade in such a state would be more than rude.

Fixing his trousers Mycroft stood, walking over to place a comforting hand on the others waist. A slight tension increase but no pulling away. He wanted to come to bed but wouldn’t say it, hm?

“If that is how you wish to see it. I order you to come to bed with me or Doctor John Watson will remain here for the rest of his natural life. Does that fit into what you expect me to say?” He huffed at the lack of reply. Fine then. If they were going to behave like children.

As expected Mycroft found Gregory to be what had to be uncomfortably hard by this point still in his trousers. Rubbing the bulge slowly he teased a spot on the Captains neck with his lips and teeth. “I will give you whatever excuse you need but I will not wait.” He warned softly.

“Bloody pain in the arse.” Greg hissed. “Where’s your room?”

 

That night Greg slept better than he had in months. No rocking bed like on a ship, or like the cot back in his cell. Just a bed softer than anything he could remember having ever used.

Waking up slowly the next morning he pressed his face into the pillow, yawning before a whiff of lavender choked him. Scented stuffed pillows? How hadn’t he noticed that last night? Last night.

Greg tensed as he remembered everything. From him kneeling in front of Mycroft, to Mycroft undressing him slowly before teasing him until he begged for release. Rolling over onto his back it was more than a little easy to tell he was completely alone.

Sitting up quickly he searched around the room but not a single trace of the Holmes brother. It was a rather bare room, despite looking so perfectly put together. Only thing out of place had to be the clothes he assumed to be his hanging neatly from the back of a chair.

He was pulling his trousers up when the bedroom door opened. “Oi!” He snapped, turning around only to blush crimson as Athena regarded him coolly. “Captain Lestrade, if you wish to see the others off you should hurry and dress.”

“I was in the middle of that. Thank you.” He said somewhat sarcastically, starting to pull his shirt on while forgetting his trousers weren’t quite tight enough. Feeling the cool breeze on his lower region Greg went red in the face as he yanked them back up.

 

The ride down to the docks was as silent as most of their rides together were. “Will I be taken back to my cell after this?”

Nothing.

As the carriage came to a halt Greg gave a small nod. “Glad we could have this little talk.”

The first thing he noticed was Mycroft standing in front of the freshly cleaned up and dressed ladies, dressed as elegantly as any noble. “Captain Lestrade!” Sarah was the one to greet him first, embracing him quickly before pulling away and allowing her sisters to do the same.

“It has been my pleasure being your Captain.” He said, bowing to them.

“It’s true? You’re not coming with us?” Sarah asked, touching his arm gently. Patting her hand Greg shook his head.

“Not quite yet. I promise to return, and with Doctor Watson.” He teased.

“You’re so brave, Captain!”, “So brave!” the sisters behind Sarah added.

Cheeks flushed from the praise he shook his head again. This didn’t feel like bravery on his part but they didn’t have time to stand around and argue about it. He needed to see these women put on that ship and taken home. They deserved that.

 

“Lady Sarah might be finding her affections swayed away from Doctor Watson.” Mycroft murmured from beside him as the ship sailed off. Oh no. He wasn’t going to be drawn into some childish exchange of words.

“Am I going back to my cell?” He asked, frowning when Mycroft just turned to start walking back to his carriage. “Hey!” Greg called out as he followed, mumbling less than flattering curses under his breathe.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

A wet nose nudged the side of his face, a soft whimper making him crack an eye open. He hadn’t been asleep but the poor beast seemed scared should his eyes close for more than a few minutes. At a reassuring pat on the head ‘Olivia’ laid out next to his sitting form, head on his knee.

Morning was already dawning but Sherlock hadn’t been able to think of anything that could get them off this island. Maybe somehow send a message to Mycroft but through what means? A bottle? A bird? Both ideas that would require a bit more thought.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” Johns voice chuckled from behind him.

At least John sounded better than he had last night. “Sleep is merely a distraction. I needed to think. Do you... require anything?”

Glancing over his shoulder he watched John sit up, eyes still hazy with the final dregs of sleep. No nightmares last night, which had been a surprise. “I think I can handle it now. Thanks.” John replied with a shake of his head.

John was up and moving around in a flash, a little on the slow side but no clumsy swaying that suggested his head was still troubling him. Pushing John from his mind Sherlock closed his eyes, fingers folded under his chin as he continued to think. Nearby he could hear John moving around, sometimes even cursing to himself.

A sharp barking noise accompanied by a quick shout from John had him jerking out of the meditative state. It took another second for him to relax. Neither the bark or shout were threatening or the sounds of being threatened. Closing his eyes again Sherlock growled in frustration when the noises were repeated.

Following the sounds now he pushed past a bush only to have his anger dulled considerably.

John was standing waist deep in the middle of the river, appearing naked from Sherlock's stand point. Olivia was darting around on land barking or kneeling into the ‘play with me’ dog pose.

“Come here so I can wash you. Here, girl!” John tried but he couldn’t help but grin when she darted into the water only to jump out, wagging her tail happily.

“Olivia! Sit!” Sherlock ordered, smirking when she plopped down without a second thought. “This breed of dog requires a firm hand. They won’t listen to someone they deem less than intelligent.”

Crossing his arms the doctor rolled his eyes before smirking. “Olivia?”

Sherlock felt warmth spread over his cheeks. “Dogs respond better to commands with some sort of name. Since she was lacking in any sort of identification it only stood I should give her a temporary name.”

 

Who would have thought Sherlock Holmes, one of the most feared men on the sea, had a soft spot for dogs? “Well, since she thinks you’re the smarter of the bunch could you get her into the water? She needs a wash.”

“Don’t you think there’s more pressing issues at hand, John?” Sherlock mirrored Johns arm crossed pose.

Annoyance bubbled slowly to the surface at that tone. Getting out of the water he revealed just how little he was actually wearing. “So, follow Olivia back to wherever her owners had a camp? After that we should try to figure out the best way to be rescued. Most likely a fire with wet branches on the beach, smoke will carry on for miles. How long until Mycroft notices you’re missing?”

“Possibly a month but no longer than two. After that he’ll send a ship to sail the same route but we were blown far off course.” It hung unsaid between them that there was a slim chance they might not be found for quite some time, or even at all.

The thought should have worried him more but as claws of panic dug into his heart John forced himself to calm down. He wouldn’t have lived this long if he couldn’t handle surprises. This truly topped the list in his mind but panicking would get them nowhere.

Grabbing his clothes from where they hung John pulled the shirts over his head, remembering the last time he’d wondered how he’d survive. Well, nothing could be done from here. Steeling his mind from the fearful voice in the back of his mind he pulled his trousers on, nodding towards Sherlock.

“Shall we, Sherlock?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read all the way to the end? You're amazing. Thank you again!
> 
> Comments comments comments! I love them. They actually help a great deal because it shows what you like/dislike. Kudos are nice but if you feel I haven't earned it yet please feel free to tell me why. Even on anon over Tumblr(which mine is mentioned in the end-note of the first chapter). 
> 
> <3


	7. Drifting by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off beta-ed by audreyneedsacase. Thank you sooo much again. 
> 
> I really hope ya'll are still enjoying this. It's just so much fun to write.
> 
> Normally I try to post every Thursday but I might have to push it to every other Thursday or so. Things are just getting kinda hectic for me but I will keep posting. Other projects demand my attention as well. haha.

Olivia treated it like a game. She’d bound ahead through the greenery, stop and look back with a questioning bark as if asking what was taking them so long.

At the graveyard John paused as the panic reared its ugly head. Sherlock had mentioned it but actually seeing it made things sink in a little harder. What had been their cause of death? A fever? Natural causes? What were the chances of their deaths being repeated on the likes of him or Sherlock?

Wiping at the sweat on his forehead he was forced to quicken his pace to catch up to Sherlock and Olivia. “Shouldn’t be too much farther. Going through the motions of making decent graves suggest sentiment, and they would not want the bodies too far away.” Sherlock commented.

“Maybe they just wanted to bury the bodies because it was a decent thing to do.”

Sherlock tossed him an exasperated look as he came to stop in front of the other. “One of the many challenges you face in a jungle like this is temperature. To preserve strength one wouldn’t do things they didn’t have to do, it’s common sense. The effort of digging a grave, carrying a body, and burying said body would only drain much needed resources. Sentiment kills common sense. Makes people do things they know to be foolish.”

John searched his face carefully. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find out Sherlock felt this way but it sounded strange actually being said. Inhuman. “Sherlock...”

The tall figure was already pursuing the dog's path before John could even finish his name. Licking slightly at his lips he shook his head before following. Sherlock Holmes had proven himself more of a decent human being than most others he’d encountered. A heartless man wouldn’t have risked his life to drag someone on shore. John harbored no silly notions in regards to their ‘relationship’ but it had become more than what it had been when Sherlock had first overtaken his ship.

As they came closer to signs of human settlement the signs became more obvious, even to John. The path was overgrown but had clearly been made for human travel at some point. Following it led to a clearing of homes that sent chills down both their spines.

Olivia ran to one of the two run-down buildings to dart under a quilt that served as the door. Sherlock appeared to not harbor Johns hesitation as he followed, stopping only once to glance back at his companion. “Take that one.” He gestured before heading inside.

Shaking himself mentally out of the stupor John looked over the vine covered walls before actually stepping closer. Like its neighbor a quilt served as the door, requiring John to push it aside so he could actually get in. Ragged pieced together leaves had been used as curtains but they were so filled with holes there might as well been nothing there.

Whoever those people had been they had been here for enough time to set up a home. Not only was there a make-shift bed in one corner but pictures with cracked casing lined the walls. Despite his curiosity he couldn’t bring himself to look closer quite yet, not when he was about to pillage through whatever belongings they had left behind.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, startling John into action as he grabbed the wrist and spun them around until he had the hands owner in a chokehold. “Sherlock? Bloody hell!” He snapped, shoving the taller man away with a glare.

 

Rubbing gently at his throat Sherlock gave a smirk. “Do pay attention to your surroundings, John. I wouldn’t think a military man would be so clumsy.”  
That slight tilt upward on the right side of John's mouth showed he was nearly as cross as tone would suggest. “I could have killed you.”

Sherlock didn’t bother dignifying that with a reply as he went to a chest in the corner. “Related families. The wives were sisters. One infant that the other man's wife had on the island.” He rambled, only paused by a cough from the stirred up dust on the chest. “The last husband to stay alive took his own life shortly after his wife died.”

The icy silence behind him gave the impression he’d said something wrong but what had it been this time?

Snorting at the contents of the trunk he pulled out a woman's dress, dropping it on the ground next to him. “Upper class family.” He murmured after giving another of the dresses a look over. No poor woman could afford a dress like this. “Landed here five years ago. Last time this fashion was in popular style.”

“Why would you know about noblewomen’s fashion?”

“I’m a pirate, John. It helps knowing how much things are worth if I’m going to make a profit.” He said simply. Of course he wasn’t known for taking much beyond the obvious choices. It just made it easier to deduce someone if he understood what they were wearing. The little snort from behind him had him smirking.

There wasn’t much they could use between what both homes had to offer. Standing quickly he went outside to walk around the buildings, eyes scanning the ground carefully as he mumbled to himself. “A-ha!” He cried in proud triumph, falling to his knees under a tree a few feet from where John stood watching in confusion.

“Of course they wouldn’t keep anything like this in the house.” Sherlock was murmuring as he dug with his hands.

Cursing as he realized what the other was doing exactly John went over to help, not finding it necessary to question it until they’d dug up a few medium sized tins wrapped in cloth. Sherlock unwrapped out to pop the lid off, eyes flashing with excitement at the contents . Opening a few more he spread out the contents. “Burying items keeps them cooler, therefore fresher, longer. A storm crashed them into the rocks but they had time to gather supplies before coming to shore.”

A small gurgling noise stilled his thoughts for a moment, making him notice that John had cleared his throat as if embarrassed. Hungry.

“There should be enough material from the women’s' petticoats to form a net for fishing.” He added.

After a few moments of silence John frowned. “Are you telling me to go get them?”

The pointed stare was answer enough, and John was up without a fight. No doubt worried that if he didn’t actually do it there wouldn’t be food. Watching the man walk towards the houses Sherlock felt his eyes wander until John hesitated for a split second.

“The body isn’t there.”

“Hm?” John looked over his shoulder questioningly but he could easily see the tension easing from his shoulders at the news.

“The husband took his own life but not in there. No trace of a body.”

 

There had been plenty of dead bodies to see in the span of his career. Why the idea of this one bothered him John wasn’t exactly sure but he felt relieved to know it wouldn’t be in there just. . waiting.

Inside this little home was much like the other one but the attempt at a child's bed next to the mat caused something to lodge in his throat. The trunk was already open, clothes scattered out from where Sherlock had no doubt dug through it.

Getting to work John started gathering the petticoats together before another idea came to mind. Searching around carefully he grinned at coming across a crudely constructed knife. For a first attempt it wasn’t bad. A little more than simply sharpening a rock but it would serve his purpose for the time being. Heading outside to the trees John started cutting off thick strands of the bark.

Tugging at the first few bits he’d cut off the doctor gave a pleased nod before continuing to work. “Sherlock!”

After a few minutes of no reply John glanced over his shoulder. “Sherlock Holmes!”

His voice was laced with command, demanding the others presence and leaving no room for argument. A few seconds later Sherlock was storming towards him with a glare, hands fisted at his sides. “I was-“

“Those underskirts won’t be good enough for nets.” John interrupted, bending down to grab a few strips he’d cut from the tree. “The bark of this tree can easily be weaved together to make a fishing basket. I’m sure your ‘Mind Palace’ has something on basket weaving, get started.”

Sherlock stared at him, jaw dropping open in a small ‘o’ of surprise before it snapped shut and he went to gather the strips together. 

It was a little surprising to have Sherlock actually listen but he certainly wasn’t going to question it. Right now he just wanted to get some sort of basket made so they could attempt to catch something to eat. Seeing all of the dried fish and other things buried away in those tins had reminded John just how long it had been since either of them had eaten.

With his stomach growling in hunger John dug the knife head deeper than needed into the tree, cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and heat.

“I think that’s enough for now.” He said, glancing down at Sherlock where he sat weaving everything together. Rather decently at that. 

“Boring. You can finish this, John.” Sherlock huffed, dropping everything at John's feet before standing.

“Boring? Sherlock, this isn’t about what amuses you. We need this.”

“You can take care of it.”

That arrogant, thick skulled, pompous little arse! “You don’t work, you don’t eat.” John threatened as he went to finish weaving. Sherlock had done enough to make it easier to follow along at least. Looking up he noticed Sherlock already half-way gone, without so much as a word.

“Bloody cocky little cock.” John grumbled.

Only three fish so far. Falling onto the edge of the river he pulled the sweat soaked shirt off, rubbing at his sore shoulder. Wincing when his fingers came too close to grazing the puckered flesh of his scar. Everything was starting to ache. Slapping a bug biting at his neck John shook his head, swatting gently over the basket where Olivia sniffed at the fish. “Go on, girl.” He scolded gently.

Deciding it was time to back to camp John draped the shirt over his shoulder, basket under the other arm as they headed off. The faint scent of smoke teased at his nose, making him believe it wasn’t really there a stronger draft sent a chill down his spine. “Sherlock?” He called, not realizing he’d picked up pace until his heart started beating harder.

 

Setting aside the last jar Sherlock set a mental time in his head about when they’d be ready. The coconut oil would need time to set, which would take around twenty-four hours. And Mycroft had scoffed at him learning the process. Picking one of the little jars up he went outside to show John, frowning at the sight of nothing.

Oh yes. The basket. Fishing. Had he been gone long? Even the dog had gone with him.

He was bent over working on a fire when John entered the clearing, nearly running from the looks of it. Standing quickly Sherlock looked on in confusion as the blonde figure came to a halt in front of him. “You made a fire?” John questioned.

“A simple process, John.” He said calmly, starting to reach out for the others arm before pulling back sharply. What was he thinking? “John?”

The man swayed in place, eyes fluttering closed for a second until Sherlock reached out to grab his bare arm in case he fell.

“Fish. I brought fish.” John pulled away from him, holding the basket up. “We can wrap them in leaves to cook after I clean them.”

John had been scared. Scared for what? Olivia appeared undisturbed so no threat out in the jungle. Watching John move through the motions of getting the fish ready for cooking Sherlock tried to wrap his mind around the only other option left. If it hadn’t been fear for himself or a threat out in the jungle that only meant the doctor had been scared for him?

Why on earth would he feel like that?

For once Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to say anything about what he could see so easily. Nor anything about John's current lack of undress.

For the moment he was actually content to sit back and watch John work. Skilled hands prepared the fish before burying them carefully in the hot ash so they could cook. John knew how to take care of himself.

“What do you think happened to the crew?”

“Does it really matter?” Sherlock didn’t feel anything towards what had been his crew. He’d never cared for them one way or the other. They had been there to work, and at that they were usually subpar at best. “Don’t look at me like that, John. Most of them were going to die by unnatural means anyway. It’s the life each of them chose.”  
John looking away was what worried him. “They would have been killed or wished for death if we had reached port anyway. Mycroft isn’t known for his soft hand in dealing with those he deems a danger to what he’s built up.” Sherlock added calmly.

“You could do more than be a pirate, you know. Your mind is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. You’re bloody brilliant.” John was looking at him again, sincere in his statement.

“I have attended some of the best schools in England but they were boring. Nothing I couldn’t learn on my own, and they didn’t teach what I wanted to know. Boring, waste of my time. The life you think I could do so much with would only end with me having my fate controlled and out of my hands.” Sherlock shivered in disgust as he pictured it. He would be kept on a tight leash that would only tighten until he hung himself. 

Lying back against the grass he watched the fire straight on, feeling rather comfortable.

John didn’t seem to think of him as others did. Never once had John called him a freak or muttered prayers against the all-seeing ‘Demon’ in his soul. “It might be comfortable for you but you’re not nearly as content with that life as you’d like to pretend.” Sherlock couldn’t help himself.

There was an uncomfortable silence filled with the soft crackle of fire before he noticed John tense, eyes going blank.

“You miss the danger. The rush it gave you. In the short time we’ve been here you haven’t struggled with your leg. Not even back at port.”

The doctor's right hand flexed on his thigh.

“There is nothing waiting in London besides finding a wife but, of course, you want that. It’s what is ‘normal’ but you’re worried you won’t be able to find one. Your military career counters your age but your career i-“

“Sherlock.”

For the first time in what could have very well been his entire life Sherlock suddenly stopped talking . From the corner of his eye he watched the reaction his words caused, none of it positive.

 

Sherlock seemed bound and determined to faze him but it didn’t appear to matter to him which way it went. So long as he got some sort of reaction.

Like a bloody child.

Every second he remained John knew he came far too close to saying something he’d most likely regret. The fact was they were stuck with each other, and it would be easier to survive with the help of another. That meant he needed just a few moments alone to think.

“My head.” He sighed, getting up to head into one of the huts. It wasn’t a complete lie but it wasn’t the whole truth. Sherlock could already tell most likely.

John dug his fingers against the table he leaned against, feeling the old wood give somewhat under his grip without actually collapsing. Something rolled across the surface to bump against his hand, drawing his attention as he debated throwing it across the room. Why what Sherlock said got under his skin so bad ly was another thing John didn’t want to look at too closely.

Grabbing up the little jar he frowned at the white contents, looking back at the quilt covered door. “Sherlock? What is this?” He called, not bothering to elaborate.

“Coconut oil.”

“Did you make this?”

“I highly doubt it’s at Olivia's mental capacity and skill-set to accomplish such a task. Leave it alone! It needs to set for a full day so it can settle!”

Glancing around he saw the other jars filled with more of the same oil. Brown coconut shells littered the floor from where they’d been cracked open, even scraped on the inside.  
“John, I said to leave it alone!” Sherlock was suddenly there, yanking the jar from his hand to set it down roughly. From this close he could see how the pirates hands were pinker than before.

With Sherlock rambling on the many uses of coconut oil John reached out to grab his wrist, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. Not infected and decently healing but he worried.

Worrying over the damn pirate who was the whole reason he was here and not back in London. What had he come to? Oh right, just a bloody doctor. “Wait here.” He ordered, loosening his grip on Sherlock's hand and choosing to ignore how it lingered in his grip for half a second longer than was needed.

The petticoat was cleaner than the strips of make-shift bandages he’d made from his own shirt, and stronger as well. Made from a strong cloth that would be, again, better than what he’d attempted to make with his own sleeve.

“Come on. The fish will be fine by itself for a few minutes.” John said, gesturing for Sherlock to follow.

Outside John ordered firmly for Olivia to stay by the fire, rewarding her with a soft pat on the head before leading the way back to the river. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Sherlock looked as stiff as his voice when John tugged him down to sit beside the water.

“I know that.” Holding one hand under water John then brought it close to his face, checking for anything inside the small cuts. Nodding to himself he went to work wrapping the bandages around Sherlock's palm before repeating the same process on the other hand. “These conditions are less than ideal but still not as bad as they could be. More silent for one.”

A small chuckle escaped them both, easing the tension and saying more than forced apologies ever could.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Five days. Ten hours. Twenty-five minutes. Fifteen seconds.

Sherlock should have made port almost a week ago. The empty spot where his ship should have been caused Mycroft an embarrassing amount of unease. These things might happen in other ports but never his. He could time almost exactly when one of his ships was due back to arrive, even factoring in wiggle room for lateness. 

That blasted ship should already have been back. Sherlock wasn’t due for another game of ‘chase’ for at least a year. And he never used that ship. It wasn’t fast enough and required effort on too many people for Sherlock's liking.

The storm from almost a month ago crossed his mind. On the edge of that came burning hot denial that refused to believe what was really the most logical choice. It wouldn’t be the first ships or crew he’d lost to a storm.

Panic gripped at his heart even as his expression remained calm and collected. No one could tell his blood was pumping faster, leaving him feeling shaky and nervous. As always Mycroft Holmes was the perfect image of self-control even as he cleared his throat loudly enough to bring Athena to his side.

“I want Captain Roberts brought to me, as well as our fastest ship prepared. He’ll be casting off before this afternoon.”

Left alone as his orders were carried out Mycroft knew already what he’d say. The shipment Sherlock had taken was a hefty profit. It was only logical to want to make sure it hadn’t been stolen. Captain Roberts would trace the same route as Sherlock had taken. There he would find out exactly when Sherlock had left.

Captain Roberts was somewhat younger than him but he understood how the world worked. Before coming here he’d merely been one of the many beggars on London streets. This life had been good to him, and therefore his loyalties were rather strong. It was the main reason why Mycroft decided to use him.

“Mr. Holmes.” Roberts bowed his head as he entered, not so much as blinking when Athena pulled the door shut behind him to leave them alone.

“Ah, congratulations’ are in order I believe.” Mycroft couldn’t help but notice the little changes Roberts presented. “How far along is your wife?”

“I am still amazed at your talent, sir, but considering you called for me personally I believe there’s something important we need to discuss.” Roberts said with a chuckle.

Easing back into his chair Mycroft nodded, seeing no point in easing into the conversation now. “Sherlock Holmes should have already returned from dropping off a rather large shipment of rum commandeered over his last voyage. You will take the same route Sherlock took, and if there is no trace of Sherlock you are to find out exactly when he left.” Mycroft held up a folded letter, giving a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Before you leave port you are to read this. Further instructions are on it, and I expect them to be followed through fully.” Mycroft Holmes didn’t make threats. He didn’t need to.

As Roberts took the letter Mycroft saw the ever so gentle tremble of his hand before it retreated to his side, as well as the slight increase of breathing. Point made.  
“You will sail before this afternoon. Time is of the utmost importance.”

 

Even before dawn had fully broke n Greg had been up and dressed. Years of habit were impossible to break and he didn’t want to really. This wasn’t some holiday where he was supposed to be spoiled. He was still here as Mycroft's prisoner, just waiting for John to be brought back so they could return home together.

It felt like things were taking too long. Shouldn’t they have been back by now? When questions like that started to cloud his mind Greg did whatever possible to distract himself. Which was how he’d ended up in the library trying to dig up some type of interest in the books filling it. His mother had insisted on him learning how to read a bit but at the moment all the words in front of him blurred together into senseless gibberish.

“Greg?”

The unread book fell from his hands to fall with a light ‘thump’ at his feet. Molly chuckled softly as he bent over to grab the book, putting it back before turning to her.

“You’re supposed to have tea with Mr. Holmes this afternoon, remember?”

“Must have forgotten. What with my busy schedule.” Greg said offhandedly, grinning when Molly laughed. It felt like a long time since he’d last seen her or even gotten a chance to find out how she was doing. “Things working out over at Anderson's then?”

“It’s wonderful.” Molly proceeded to go into detail on her most favorite procedures Anderson had had in the last few days. She looked tired but so happy.

Greg gave her a friendly pat on the back, smiling warmly down at her when they’d reached the sitting room where Mycroft liked to have tea. “Glad to hear it, Molly. Just take care of yourself.”

The door opened to have them greeted by Mycroft who spared only a glance at where Greg had his hand. In that one glance Greg felt his heart slam painfully against his chest as he pulled back, clearing his throat. “Thanks, Mo-“

“That will be all, Ms. Hooper . I have something rather important to discuss with Captain Lestrade.”

What little good mood there had been died the second the sitting room door was shut behind him. Leaving them alone. Something was wrong. This wasn’t aloof Mycroft that he was used to. He hadn’t been sitting just waiting, acting like he didn’t care one way or another if Greg even showed up.

“I don’t see the point in dodging the issue, Gregory. My brother should have already returned by this point.” Mycroft held up a hand to cut off whatever he was going to say. “I have already taken care of the issue.”

Taken care of the issue? As it stood Greg didn’t see the ‘issue’ properly taken care of until John was back here and they were both heading back to London.

“There is a chance the ship was destroyed in the most recent storm. I gave strict orders for the ship I sent out to look for any trace of such an event.”

It would be nearly impossible to find remains of a ship so long after the storm. “How’re you handling it?”

Greg waited for an answer as Mycroft went to take his usual seat, preparing his own tea with usual ease. “Don’t play this game, Mycroft.”

“There is no game, Gregory. Everything that can be done is being carried out. Are you expecting me to express some form of regret that Sherlock may be dead? I was never prone to give into sentimental misgivings.”

The things they had done together and Greg again remembered he understood really nothing about Mycroft. Anything he had learned came from observing but he couldn’t grasp things like the other could. Still, something in his gut said things weren’t as clear cut as Mycroft was pushing for.

“Nothing wrong with being worried. He’s your little brother, isn’t he? It’s perfectly natural.” He said, taking the seat across from Mycroft.

“Caring is not an advantage. If it were would you still be here essentially ‘whoring’ your body to me? You would be back in London where your commanders would use you as a selling point for that anti-pirate campaign they’ve been pushing. You’re a well-respected Captain, handsome, loyal. Exactly what they’d want to show off.” Each word was said with care as he went about fixing another cup of tea for Greg.

“You done?” Greg wasn’t as offended as he ought to have been. It was like listening to a child lash out. “I think this is the most I’ve seen you lose control. Feels like a real turning point.” He grumbled.

Mycroft was scared about Sherlock being dead or at least worried about the possibility of it. There was a real chance he was dead, and John... 

Sagging back into the stiff backed chair Greg felt the information sink in slowly. John could actually be dead. John Watson, his best mate, could actually be dead. “You hear about ships being sunk in a storm pretty much all the bloody time when you work on the sea. Yet you don’t really sit back and think it could happen to the vessel you’re on. You want to think there’s something different with your crew.” Rubbing his hands over his face Greg wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or beg forgiveness.

Would John have still been on that damn ship if he hadn’t been wounded protecting him?

With his face covered Greg heard rather than saw Mycroft get up, and heard him approach until he’d stopped beside the chair. A firm hand went to stroke his hair, tearing a sigh from his chest. “It’ll be at least a month before we know anything more, won’t it?” Greg sighed, hands going to his lap as he looked up.

“Yes.”

This might very well be his last month here. Tilting his head up into the gentle strokes Greg reached up to take the others hand, bringing it to his lips. “I think I speak for us both when I say sod the bloody tea.” Greg murmured, kissing a palm that lacked any signs of manual labor.

 

A calloused thumb brushed over his palm, sending a shiver down his spine. Dark eyes met his and Mycroft couldn’t help but agree in regards to the tea. Leaning down Mycroft kissed him roughly, feeling Gregory melt into it.

This was a distraction from the piles of work waiting for him. A testament to how weak he was when it came to his younger brother. “I won’t be gentle.” He was already wrapping long fingers around Gregory’s throat, squeezing softly until the man let out a small gasp and nodded .

Mycroft squeezed harder for a second or two longer, watching clouded eyes drift shut for a second as a silent moan escaped his lips. How truly addictive this was. “On the couch, Gregory. Trousers off.” He ordered as he pulled away, cock stirring when the Captain struggled to regain control of his body.

With hungry eyes he watched Gregory undress only as far as he’d been told. No more. No less. “Already so hard, Gregory. Does the idea of being taken on my sitting room couch truly excite you so much?” He gently mocked, walking up behind the other and brushing finger-tips along a bruised bite mark on his left hip.

The room was bright from sunlight pouring through the window, adding an extra thrill that he knew Gregory loved. There were so many layers to his dear Navy Captain. Digging his nails into the bite mark Mycroft didn’t stop until his lover let out a small groan, pressing back against him.

“Bend over, Gregory.” He ordered softly. “Hold onto the back of the couch.”

Oh yes. This was beautiful. Even with the shirt in place he knew exactly where every mark left was. Nothing where anyone else could see. What he’d left behind was for just them. He knew, and Gregory knew.

Mycroft scooped up the small bottle of oil sitting on the table. A special little oil that he got from Ms. Adler. Secretly of course but nothing worked better.

Spreading Gregory's arse carefully he tipped the bottle over until some dribbled over the no doubt still tender from the other night. That didn’t stop the greedy man from pushing back against the teasing finger that circled his entrance slowly. 

 

His body was on fire. Every mark on his body throbbed in time with his racing heart but Greg loved it. It took everything in him not to beg. To say he wasn’t sure if he wanted to return to London.

As a finger pushed into him Greg moaned low, head falling forward as heat filled his face. When had this become more than trading his body for his best mates safe return home? Another finger joined the first, pushing in harder until he was white knuckled gripping the back of the couch.

Greg moved with the steady motion of Mycroft's fingers, trying to muffle his sounds of pleasure with hard bites to the inside of his cheek. “Bloody bastard.” The words were forced out when the fingers were simply taken away. He knew what was coming but anticipation clawed at his insides until all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, and the now familiar sound of Mycroft oiling himself up. The wet noise of hand on flesh tore him apart more than even seeing it.

A warning hand squeezed over the bite mark on his hip, forcing him to remain still as Mycroft pushed into him. The sound Greg heard was an embarrassing cry of pleasure, which was quite obviously him. God, he didn’t want Mycroft to ever know how much he loved this.

Without warning, fingers wrapped around his cock, grasping firmly as Mycroft started moving his hand. Greg felt light headed as he alternated between arching back into the harsh thrusts, and moving into the hand around him. “Close, Mycroft... almost...” He moaned, tasting copper as he bit into his lower lip to hold back the scream as everything seemed to go white.

 

Mycroft felt the tight muscles squeeze him, adding extra stimulation to Gregory’s already tight body. Bending over the other's back it only took a few more hard thrusts to reach his point, moaning the man's name softly.

He felt sluggish as he pulled out, heart quickening at the sight of the abused hole. As expected the currently panting Lestrade had moved to sag against the back part of the seat, knowing it would hurt to actually sit for at least a few minutes.

How very obvious it was that Gregory enjoyed this greatly. It just felt kinder to let the poor man pretend he didn’t know.

Bracing himself on the back of the couch Mycroft leaned across Gregory’s back, turning his head to capture his lips in a rather gentle kiss. The faint taste of blood stirred amusement in his chest. Such iron-will this man had.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

A month they had been on this island and they were still alive. Well, Sherlock claimed it was a month. John had been trying to keep up but he was too busy trying to do the things Sherlock refused to do. Which was mostly anything that helped them survive.

One of the huts had been turned into some sort of lab where Sherlock spent most of his time carrying out experiments. John was more impressed than annoyed when it came to that. Except for when there would be a stench that carried over into the hut he used for sleeping. At those points he was forced almost back to the river with Olivia whimpering behind him.

Last night had been such an event. Which left John with little energy for a day of collecting supplies together, and left him even more drained after a particularly busy day.

“Olivia! Leave that turtle alone.” John called, shaking his head as the dog sniffed at the large creature crawling towards the ocean. Being out on the beach wasn’t exactly his favorite spot. It was so large and open, no room for hiding. If they were going to run into hostiles surely there would have been some trace by now but John didn’t like pushing their luck.

Looking out over the relatively calm water John could almost catch a glimpse of the rocks their ship on been caught on. Torn sails were the only thing that remained after the ship had finally sunk down. John shook his head as he pictured what had become of the crew. Some must have made it to shore somehow but most had probably drowned or been taken by sharks.

A wet nose nudged at his hand, bumping it to land neatly on a furry head. “Ready to head back, girl? Sherlock needs to eat something.” He chuckled, glad to be off the hot sand as they went back into the jungle.

Bananas, coconuts, ocean fish, even a crab. Overall a decent spread for half a days gathering. Certainly would help if he had some type of assistance.

 

Sherlock glanced up from his attempt at growing a new mold culture. It was proving to be a little harder than he’d first thought, not to mention John getting angry when coconuts were ‘wasted’.

Outside he could hear John moving around, even chatting with Olivia. It was so mundane sounding. John preparing a fire to cook the fish, cursing his bad shoulder, and sometimes even humming to himself. Afterward John would demand he eat something, not leaving him alone until something was consumed.

As if on cue the doctor was pushing the quilt aside, poking his head inside. “Sherlock, I brought back some bananas.”

Even after just a month the physical effects on John were noticeable. Whatever had grown soft after months of bed rest from his injury was turning back into hard muscle, and the tan on his skin was rather appealing. He fit in with this wilderness. He looked so much more alive than when Sherlock had first captured his ship.  
Sherlock sat there in silence, refusing to take another look at John and notice any more changes.

“Sherlock!”

Standing quickly he glared at the shorter man, body warming when his eyes darkened in warning.

Of course it ended with them sitting beside the fire, Sherlock choking down a banana as John cooked the fish and crab. A few times he tried offering bites to Olivia, earning a glare from John.

“I think tomorrow we should start using more wood for the fire. You can start handling the fire, and don’t even say ‘boring’. Make it an experiment. How can you make it more visible?”

That was an interesting proposition. What would be the best way? Maybe he could mix something together from what he could find on the island?

 

That worked. How hadn’t he thought of that before?

With Sherlock so deep in thought he was able to finish cooking before heading into his own hut for a lie down. After last night’s lack of sleep he really needed a moments rest.  
Closing his eyes John tried to relax into the mat, sighing contently. Things were going well here. Outside he could hear Sherlock whispering things to Olivia, and he couldn’t help but grin. The times he caught Sherlock playing with that dog made him see how young he actually was.

John pushed back the image that threatened to come up. Again. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed the company of their own gender but there were urges. It didn’t help that Sherlock was one of the most attractive people he’d ever met. Even being stuck on this island hadn’t diminished that.

With a growing ache between his thighs John felt himself drift off, mind haunted by sinful urges he was still convincing himself he didn’t want.

_Those curious eyes were dull, unseeing. It wasn’t right._

_“Sherlock.” He could barely swallow through the thick knot in his throat as he tilted the man's head back. Unobserving. “Wake up. This isn’t... isn’t funny. Stop this.”_

_He was growing colder. John felt bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t do anything to fix this. Sherlock was gone.  
Sherlock was dead._

A sharp pain to the right side of his face was enough to wake him up. Asleep. He’d been dreaming again. “Are you awake now? If there are hostiles on this island your screams would surely alert them to our presence.” Sherlock huffed.

Reaching up to touch a curl clinging to the other's forehead John just grinned at the annoyed comment. A very much alive Sherlock flushed at the contact but he didn’t move away.  
Maybe it was because he was half asleep still or suffering from the lingering nightmare but he couldn’t stop from running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. It certainly didn’t help when the man tilted his head into the touch, meeting his eyes again.

John licked at his lower lip, heart pounding when Sherlock's eyes seemed to follow the movement. He couldn’t tell who moved first but with little warning he was tugging Sherlock down to crush their lips together as he leaned up, other hand going to his waist.

Frantic hands tore at whatever the other was wearing , not stopping until both could touch bare skin. Sherlock felt as soft as he looked, and John couldn’t bring himself to question why he was enjoying this so much. He’d always preferred partners with soft, full curves that filled his hands. Nothing about Sherlock did that. He was soft to the touch but so obviously male John couldn’t quite wrap his mind around why he wanted to do nothing more than explore every inch of him.

Running his hands lower along Sherlocks spine he hesitated when his finger-tips brushed over what felt like scar tissue at his lower back.

When he tried to feel it better the willing body started pulling away, silver blue eyes refusing to make contact until John removed his hand. Instead of bringing attention to what he’d just felt John moved his hand back to the soft curls, pulling Sherlock back down. 

The nightmare faded away, the fear replaced by a warm sensation spreading through his chest as Sherlock moaned against his lips.

 

He could see Johns scar. The warped flesh tempting him to touch but Sherlock knew John wasn’t ready for that. He craved more, wanted it more than almost anything else he could remember desiring in his life. It just wasn’t time. There was little doubt he could manipulate the situation around to get what he craved in that moment but what about in the morning?

Pressing closer against John a part of his mind couldn’t help but focus on how the other avoided moving his hands further down his back. Giving a wide berth to the raised skin there. What would John think when he saw it? A gentle bite to his lower lip brought Sherlock back to their current actions, dragging out another small sound of pleasure. His self-control was slipping even as he felt Johns body start to grow lax under his.

Pulling out of the kiss Sherlock could already see Johns eyes starting to glaze over with sleep. Without a word he laid out next to the other, resting his head on a broad chest in a silent promise to be here when John woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you finish reading? Awesome! You're fantastic!!
> 
> Comments comments comments! Please and thank you. Those help me soo much in knowing if the direction I take is appealing to you guys. Kudos are also lovely. If you feel it hasn't earned kudos yet that's fine. I'd love to know why, if it's not too much trouble.
> 
> Spoiler: There will be Johnlock sex next chapter.


	8. Unexpected Find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course. Big thank you to my Beta-reader audreyneedsacase. Amazing as always.
> 
> I really hope ya'll are still enjoying. Both my Johnlockers and my Mystraders. :)
> 
> Well, I was going to wait until Thursday(3/21) but I am currently tipsy/kinda bummed. So here is it!

No matter what Sherlock wanted he couldn’t just lie there. He’d already slept through most of the night curled up against John like some sort of pathetic pet. Lying there now he listened to the jungle outside in the usual chorus of sounds that both inspired fear and curiosity. 

The arm around his shoulders tightened for a second before he felt John start to stir. It appeared his problem would be solved sooner than he thought.

“Sherlock?” At least he didn’t sound disgusted, just confused. That was better than being disgusted to find another man in his arms. When John started to tense that was Sherlock's cue to pull away, reaching for the discarded shirt and pulling it on. Even if everything was only lit by moon light he knew it would help John's comfort level if he were completely dressed.

“A simple reaction. Nothing more, nothing less. Do stop looking like that, John. It’s actually really annoying.” Sherlock said with a huff, standing up quickly. He could feel John's eyes on him even in the dark. The internal debate was too obvious. He could practically hear everything the other was thinking. None of it exactly pleasant. Not that it would be when one woke up in the arms of a bloody pirate. 

Sherlock was almost out the door when John finally stirred, getting up after grabbing his own shirt. “Sherlock. Thank you for waking me.”

Something in his chest loosened as he turned, only to grow cold when John seemed unable to meet his eyes. Oh honestly!

“Good night, John.”

 

Sherlock was pouting. There was no other way to describe it. There was also no denying it was his, John's, fault.

What had happened a few days ago had left him with a hefty dose of confusion. Truly John had never been the type to believe someone was going to hell for taking pleasure in the flesh of their own gender. He’d never done it, nor had the desire for it, but months grew lonely on a ship filled with nothing but other men.

More than once he’d stumbled upon a pair of men who hadn’t been able to take the isolation further. Were they really hell bound for that?

And Harry.

No. John didn’t believe anyone deserved hell for something like that.

Still, nothing really eased the confusion that hung around in the back of his mind. It hadn’t helped when he remembered Sherlock was a pirate. Not just any pirate either. A Holmes brother. Their reputation was something John had been hearing about for years, and what had he done? Woken up from a nightmare and pulled Sherlock Holmes into his arms because he’d been so scared of waking up to find his nightmare had really happened.

Olivia's barking brought him back to the present. Something must have been caught in the net judging by her pacing by the rivers edge, stepping into the water and then out to give another alerting bark. Making his way into the waist deep water John just let the fish wiggle away. They didn’t actually need any more fish anyway.

His days being spent by the river were just him trying to escape. And with Sherlock by the beach most of his time keeping the fire going they hadn’t really interacted the last few days anyway.

Which was fine. Good really.

Folding the net carefully John went back to sit on the bank of the river, shaking his head. A wet nose nudged his cheek before a flat tongue got his face, making him laugh. “Bad girl.” He tried to sound stern but it was kind of ruined when he started scratching at her ears.

“I would think a man with your history would at least be able to train a dog.” Olivia ran over to Sherlock as he passed by, tail wagging. It was obvious who her favorite of the two men was but John honestly didn’t mind.

Watching Sherlock's eyes soften so slightly when he paid attention to Olivia made it okay.

“You’re the one who feeds her when you think I don’t see it.” John chuckled, mentally wincing at the sound of his own voice. It felt like they hadn’t spoken since that incident either.

 

Still uncomfortable. Sherlock gave Olivia one more pat before straightening up, stealing one more glance at John.

Not quite able to make eye contact. A big telling factor when it came to another person’s thought process, normally unnoticed but most people were stupid. Actually, everyone was stupid. They didn’t see what was so very obvious. To the normal persons, which was everyone else, John would seem back to his old self, right down to making a joke but Sherlock knew better.

Nothing he could say would actually help. “If you’ll excuse me.” Sherlock said, heading towards the beach.

A good distraction had been doing what John had suggested. Try to make the fire even more noticeable for a further distance away. It was proving to be a little bit more complicated than he first thought. He didn’t have the same access to chemicals here as back home but that was part of the challenge.

Tossing more wet wood into a pile he spent about another hour just trying to light the damn mess. Standing back to cough as the smoke grew higher Sherlock tried to think about how far off course they’d been driven.

By now Mycroft would know something was amiss. Mycroft would hopefully also know this wasn’t just him getting bored and disappearing . Protocol would dictate that Mycroft send a vessel to trace the same route as a missing ship, especially if there had been a substantial profit to be lost. Well, it was lost now but Sherlock cared little for money. What money could buy he could most likely just steal.

Looking out over the water Sherlock wondered if there was any chance of one of his brother's ships finding them or anyone finding them in general. This island was a mystery to him. Not on any maps he’d ever seen.

Sherlock headed back to the shelter of trees when his skin started growing hot from the sun. He could watch the fire properly from here.

A soft ‘snapping’ noise drew his attention from the water to behind him. Foot-steps but obviously not John. Too clumsy. But not animal like either.

His heart started racing as he pushed away from the tree he was perched on, turning around quickly.

“Captain Holmes, you survived.”

The man was all loose skin and baggy clothes, suggesting a man who had been more than a little portly before ending up here. None of that quite interested Sherlock as much as the knife currently hanging by the mans side in a tight grip.

“Can’t even remember me, can you? Why should you? Sherlock Holmes is too good to actually know any of his crew.”

“Claude. You had a habit of pinching from whatever loot we took from other ships. On our last drop off you thought I didn’t notice the rum you’d ‘borrowed’ to use as currency for your whore habit.” Sherlock said calmly, stepping back when the man took a step closer towards him.

“I ain’t ever taken a damn thing that weren’t mine!” Claude growled, showing yellow nubs of teeth. The knife came into view now, shaking in front of him as if he were torn between simply going after his ex-Captain or having more to say.

The man looked half mad. Sherlock tried to catch any other signs of Claude's mental state before having to dodge out of the way of a less than skillful attack.

“Are there any others?” He asked, tensing when Claude let out a bitter laugh. The sound felt like something grinding against his ear drums before it broke into a choked sob, knife hand swinging wildly in front of him in broken gestures.

“Others?!” Blood shot eyes narrowed on Sherlock like he was a plague infected rat. “For your sins they were all taken below.”

“Oh, that’s not quite true, is it? You killed at least one of them.” Sherlock kept his voice calm, trying not to provoke. “Let me guess, you made it to shore with at least two other of the crew. You joined forces with one to take ‘care’ of the other because he wasn’t doing his fair share? Or were you tricked into believing he had it out for you both?”  
“Shut up.” He growled, baring his teeth as drool dribbled down his chin.

“Then you grew more paranoid. When would that man turn on you? That knife belongs to someone with more skill, or ‘did’ belong anyway. You killed him with his own knife.” Sherlock kept talking, watching Claude work himself into a fine mess.

 

Olivia growled softly beside John, fur standing on end as she looked in the direction of the beach. “What’s wrong, girl?” John asked, glancing down at her. He’d never heard her actually growl like this. Beyond a playful bark she was as docile an animal as he’d ever seen.

His own eyes couldn’t see anything but there had to be something. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock was still at the beach. “Come on then.” He said quickly. It didn’t need to be said twice as she ran ahead, forcing him to pick up pace to keep up.

John heard when Olivia found whatever she had sensed. A wild snarl cut off only by a man screaming. His heart was in his throat, leaving him speechless as he came upon the scene to find Olivia digging her fangs into a man's calf. Sherlock stood to the side eyes wide.

Whoever the man was he didn’t seem too phased by the dog trying to rip into his leg, only hitting her with the blunt end of his knife to send her flying away whimpering. When beady eyes turned to him John tensed, fists coming up in a defensive pose.

“The bastard's little captive! You. You could have helped us!”

Someone from the ship? Trying to figure out a name was the last thing on his mind as John watched the knife, body tensing up as the man half limped towards him with blood dripping down his leg.

Instead of the man reaching him he was tackled from behind by a wild haired Sherlock, sending them both falling to the ground and rolling around. “Sherlock, you stupid arse!” John cursed, rushing forward.

A flash of liquid crimson sent his heart back into his throat, stealing all reason as he went to pull Sherlock out of the fray. It had always been a surprise for others to find out how strong John Watson really was but Sherlock appeared too stunned to react as he was seemingly lifted like a child and pushed to the side.

Using the others confusion against him John took Sherlock's place, slamming a well-used fist into his jaw. When the figure went limp he pulled up, eyes sharp as he waited for some sort of reaction.

Satisfied he was down for the time being John turned all attention to Sherlock, kneeling in front of him to grab his wrist. “Does it hurt?”  
“John, it’s fine. Just le-“

John squeezed his wrist tighter, cutting off his protest. “Do not even think of moving.” His voice left no room for argument but he was ready to if need be. Thankfully Sherlock sat there silently, holding his bleeding arm up where John had left it.

First thing was taking that damn knife so this lunatic didn’t have it. What to do with him though? John could almost place the face to a name but right now he didn’t bother straining himself. Pulling off the cord belt around his waist John rolled the man onto his stomach, essentially hog tying him in place.

His leg was bleeding from where Olivia had almost ripped a chunk of flesh from his calf but that wasn’t his main concern right now. “Down, girl.” John ordered when the dog started growling, pacing back and forth with her eyes on the attacker. “Stay. Sherlock, come with me.”

 

Sherlock cradled his arm gently, giving gentle pokes and prods to judge for any actual damage. He could still flex his hand, so that suggested no damage to the movement of his arm. Most likely just a wound that bled to be dramatic.

Still, the hard set of John's jaw as he was giving orders left Sherlock with little fight. He was still annoyed when ordered around like an idiot but he managed to hold his tongue until they were at the river, where John again told him to stay.

“Honestly, John! I’m not a child.” He scoffed, tensing when the shorter man turned to face him.

“You will sit here, and so help me if you aren’t here when I get back, Sherlock Holmes.”

In a small act of defiance he used the moving water to rinse off his arm, wincing as water cleaned out the small stab wound. The pain faded as he thought about Claude again. There was a slim chance of others being on the island, the ones who had survived with Claude were now dead. Their whereabouts unknown but Sherlock wasn’t much worried about that.

Once a body was dead there was nothing left of the person to care what happened to the body itself. Those sentimental actions of burial were acts for the living. Easing left over regret of not being able to save the dead person, or to fulfill some pathetic religious expectation.

If this wound were to somehow get infected would John take the effort to bury him? Or would he thank his personal God that he was finally free?

“Arm up.”

Jumping in his own skin Sherlock brought his arm out of the water. Had he really been thinking so hard he hadn’t even noticed John kneeling beside him?

Sherlock watched everything closely. John didn’t seem bothered by the lack of proper materials but it was clear he’d prepared somehow. Make-shift bandages, coconut oil to help prevent infection, and even some of the sage had been ground up to use.

John Watson was a smart man. As Sherlock watched steady hands bandage up the lower part of his arm he almost smiled. 

“This hurt?” John asked, flexing the arm carefully and watching his face for any sign of pain.

“It feels fine. I told you it would.” Sherlock said calmly, allowing John to examine the appendage another time before he finally let go.

“Go back and rest your arm.”

That he just wouldn’t do. Unless John dragged him back to the hut and tied him down he wasn’t going to just go. Snorting in disbelief Sherlock got up only to follow him, glaring down at John when the doctor gave a frustrated sigh.

“For me, Sherlock, can you just go and rest your arm for me? Please?”

That uncomfortable knot in his stomach grew tighter. It took more control than Sherlock would ever admit not to follow after John as he went off into the jungle, presumably to deal with Claude. Maybe he should follow anyway? What if John required assistance?

Again it took more control than he wanted to admit to turn around and not follow.

 

The poor bastard was out of his bloody mind. By the time John got back to where Olivia waited patiently he was wild eyed, wrists cut from where he struggled so hard against the binds.

With a few seconds to breath he finally placed a name to the face, not that it made things easier. “Claude?” He murmured, stepping closer until the flailing body snapped at him. “No, girl.” John placed a soothing hand on Olivia's head when she started growling again.

“Are there any others?” He asked, kneeling down but keeping the knife from view.

Claude's only answer was to let out a wild laugh as he tried to roll over, arching his back so far John was surprised it didn’t just snap.

“Claude, look at me! Here!” John yelled over the laughter, snapping his fingers.

For a moment the beady eyes cleared, Claude looking up at him with panic. “John?”

Giving a nod John gestured towards the man's leg, keeping eye contact and moving slow. “Aye. I’m a doctor, remember? Your leg needs to be looked at. Can you stay calm if I untie you?” He asked even as the eyes went glassy again.

“Captain Holmes was here. I saw’im. That bastard brought the storm on us. It weren’t our fault, John. We didn’t want to. . to do it. .” 

Sighing softly John went to Claude's leg, trying to get a better look. “Claude, I’m going to untie you but you have to stay still so I can look at your leg. Okay?”

When the other stopped moving around John took the opportunity to cut the binds, preparing himself for an attack. Maybe he’d finally settled down. Letting out a small breath he started examining the dog bite, not noticing when Claude caught a glimpse of the knife. Which ended with him falling backwards after a sudden kick to the face.

Pure instinct saved him as everything went hazy. John felt his hands go up in a defensive pose, keeping Claude from grabbing his throat as he started screaming curses at him.

Claude let out a pain filled scream, pulling away from John to spin around and lash out at the dog back at his leg. It was a perfect moment to bring the knife up, digging it where the man's heart was.

Throwing the body off he lied there for another few minutes, letting the pounding in his head subside as Olivia whimpered and licked his face until he responded. “It’s fine, girl. Great.” John murmured, unblinking eyes just looking up until they started to dry out. He could feel blood on his hand, and dripping down his cheek where Claude had kicked him.

The body was right next to him. It needed to be taken care of. Properly buried at least. He couldn’t just leave it out here to rot. 

John forced himself to sit up, squeezing his eyes shut tight as his cheek throbbed. 

 

It wasn’t a hot bath but the waist deep section of the river was better than nothing. At least that’s what John tried to tell himself as he cupped water and scrubbed the dried brownish red stains from his hands. Just a few minutes to himself and he’d go check on Sherlock.

God, Sherlock. Cupping water to bring it up to his face, John tried not to think of that nightmare from a few days ago. Or what had happened only a few hours ago when he’d watched a crazed mad-man try to kill him.

Glancing up it only seemed fitting to find the curly haired pirate sitting right there, inhuman eyes watching him. “John. .”

“Don’t.” He sighed, turning away.

John fought the urge to turn around when he heard Sherlock get up. No. He needed to be alone right now, not have this brain melting confusion right there making this worse. Instead of walking away there was the faint sound of clothes before a faint splashing as if someone were joining him in the water.

“Your bloody bandages, Sherlock! Get out!” John snapped, spinning around to point at the rivers edge where the others clothes had been discarded.

The taller figure held his arm easily over the water, holding a small jar in that hand. “Turn around.”

 

It was clearly written what had happened with Claude wasn’t what John had wanted. Despite the dead man having been a pirate John was clearly unhappy with his death. There was something else though. Something right on the surface that disturbed him more than the blood on his hands.

Sighing softly Sherlock tried again to get John to turn around. “Please, John. Trust me.”

When the others back was again to him Sherlock used his free hand to spread some of the coconut oil on his back. Honestly he didn’t have to be the one doing this. He could have passed over the jar and left John alone but he didn’t want to.

No. He wanted to wrap his arms around John and just stay there. Tossing the little jar back to shore Sherlock used both hands to start rubbing in the tropical smelling oil, cheeks flushing when his finger-tips reached around enough to feel the faint edges of Johns scar.

Sherlock hadn’t been keeping up with how long this lasted. All he knew was the oil was spread over Johns back, and the air was saturated with the scent. During this whole process John had barely done more than breathe. So when his hands lifted from the water Sherlock watched carefully, preparing to be shooed away.

“How does your arm feel?” Johns hands were holding his now, pushing his back to Sherlock's chest. If he was bothered by the hard groin pressing into his lower back it didn’t really show.

“Perfectly fine. Little chance of infection.” Sherlock said calmly, swallowing the lump in his throat as John trailed his fingers over the bandage.

As if in a daze he leaned closer as John turned his head. This kiss lacked the desperate heat of last time but Sherlock could feel the unease leaving the others body as they settled into the contact. The chilled water did little to actually ruin their moods, in fact Sherlock would swear he was burning when John turned around in his arms to pull him closer.

Sherlock tried to remain passive as he let John take his time, but with each caress his own self-control was growing weaker and weaker. “Ah!” He gasped into the kiss as blunt nails dug into his hips, pulling him even closer as John rubbed against his leg.

Sex was messy, not to mention distracting. Whenever Sherlock had given into those base desires he’d never left the situation wanting more. He hated how dulled it left his mind, or how little control it left him with. Now he only wanted more. Trailing his lips down Johns throat he tasted both the man's natural musk and the coconut oil, both blending together to fill his brain with nothing but John.

When John edged them towards the rivers edge Sherlock thought nothing of it. He barely noticed it until his back made contact with the soft sand, and right away John was taking his lips into another kiss that made him forget everything else.

No. Sherlock did not enjoy sex or the distraction it caused. This was just giving John what he needed. He couldn’t control his body reacting.

It wasn’t his fault that when John went to pull away he used the movement to flip them over, pinning John to the ground now as he bent down to tease one pert nipple with his teeth. Trembling hands to his shoulders but instead of pushing him away John held him closer, chest arching up as he let out a small moan that went straight to Sherlock's groin.  
After teasing the other one until it was as erect as the other Sherlock pulled up, leaning into the hand that went to caress his cheek. “Just trust me, John.”

 

God help him but that voice! Sherlock's voice brought to mind everything decadent that the Church called sinful. “I trust you, Sherlock.” John found himself murmuring despite everything that suggested it was a folly to trust this pirate.

“Do you trust me?” Sherlock purred into his ear, tongue running around the outer shell before teeth latched onto the lobe and teased.

“Bloody hell! I do! I do trust you!” John groaned, keeping a hand fisted into dark curls as the other went to grab the no doubt perfect arse. Sherlock gave a surprised hiss, shivering against his chest.

Sherlock was whispering something as he moved his lower body around, leaving John somewhat confused until sweet contact sent fire burning along his spine. His cry of pleasure had Sherlock chuckling into his ear but at least he sounded somewhat breathless himself.

A long fingered hand wrapped carefully around their cocks, keeping the hard flesh pressed together as their hips moved. 

John heard his name moaned over and over right beside his ear, the voice lustful but a bit fearful. Turning his head he pulled Sherlock into another kiss, biting at his lower lip hard and taking in the cry of pleasure.

He felt Sherlock's hand move faster, increasing the pace of their hips as they both fought to reach the end. Sherlock reached it first, tensing and letting out a loud gasp as he poured all over Johns stomach. Squeezing the handful of curls tighter John thrust a few more times before finally finishing in a groan of pleasure that was muffled by Sherlock sucking at his tongue.

They laid there covered in sweat, oil, and their own essence. Something that John could honestly say hadn’t happened before.

Lying back with a pleased grin he watched Sherlock sit up, the pale skin tinted a pale pink. Even covered in that mess he somehow looked more innocent than John would have thought possible. His eyes widened at the sight of a little bit of his essence resting right by Sherlock's lips.

Reaching up to brush it away John sucked in a breath when the other turn his head, licking his thumb clean and biting down on it gently. 

 

When they had finally parted both took the chance to wash off in the river, letting the silence stretch on a bit longer. It didn’t feel awkward and there was nothing really to say. Sherlock could tell saying anything about what they’d just done would only make John overthink the situation. Even with the doctor stealing glances he didn’t dare bring it up.  
Sherlock didn’t take it personally when John hurried off into the jungle after dressing either. Flipping a wet curl out of his face he rolled his eyes. The social stigma against homosexual relationships ran abundant within most western societies. Yet, there was something he was missing in regards to how John felt about it. Some crucial factor he was missing. What could it be?

Heading back to camp he thought it over, only distracted long enough to greet Olivia and check for any other signs of injury. Finding her fit, if a bit tired, he went into his hut to think.

Even the sounds of John outside the hut didn’t deter him. Not when that man outside was one of the reasons his mind was so heavy with thought. Sitting there in the corner Sherlock turned his head, trying to listen closer. No warm natured humming or even teasing remarks to Olivia. All it would take was him going out there and watching. A few seconds of that and he’d know why John was acting like this.

Teeth worried at his lower lip, showing how paranoid he was to see why John was behaving in this strange way. What if he was truly distraught about earlier? Closing his eyes Sherlock slammed his head into the flimsy wall of the hut, trying to go further into his own mind. 

No. He wasn’t like others. He didn’t get distracted by these emotions that made a person stupid and feeble minded. That wasn’t what he did.

“Sherlock?”

His eyes cracked open, giving a blank appearance as John gestured for him to follow. “I need to check your arm.”

“It’s fine, John.” He grumbled in a childish voice, turning his head away. 

They each remained still for a half second longer, waiting to see if the other would fold first. Of course John was the one to cave. The doctor in him just couldn’t handle leaving a patient alone if there was the chance he could help.

Even when John knelt beside him Sherlock didn’t look back around but he noticed everything. The gentle way John handled his arm, twisting it around carefully to inspect the bandages. They wouldn’t need to be changed for a few more hours but John was a careful doctor.

“You do realize what you did back there was what some might call ‘sentiment’, right?”

Sherlock looked at him now, one brow raised in question.

“Stop that.” John sighed.

“Stop what exactly?”

Lips were over his in a flash, causing his thoughts to freeze before melting and focusing completely on the man currently kissing him.

 

The way Sherlock tensed made him worry this would be unwelcome but then a shaking hand was at his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer.

Again John noticed a distinct lack of feminine curves as a hand ran down the others side, landing on his hip. It still didn’t seem to bother him. He didn’t think he’d enjoy doing this with just any man but Sherlock wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met. Lying Sherlock out on the floor he didn’t see this as lying with another man. This was different. 

Sherlock was different.

Trailing his lips down to the pale throat he pushed the shirt up, nipping at the soft area where shoulder became neck. Under normal circumstances he might refrain from leaving marks but here there was no reason to hide anything. He could mark Sherlock on every inch of his body and no one would ever know. With that in mind he sucked hard, loving how the man trembled and gasped beneath him.

John pulled back to admire the bright pink mark that was already starting to bruise. Even if there was no one else around to see it would be a nice reminder.

Long legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing in such a way John had to wonder if Sherlock was more experienced with this than previously thought.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Even outside the Holmes house Greg knew he was being watched, maybe even followed. Their deal wouldn’t let him leave but Mycroft wasn’t so very trusting. Which explained how he was still alive and running such an operation.

Followed or not he just needed to be out. Mycroft had sent a crew to find out the fate of John and Sherlock only a few days ago but waiting was proving a lot more stressful than Greg would want to admit. Mycroft wasn’t making things any better. When in a temper the man would sit there for hours just staring at nothing, or he’d say what he knew would drive Greg further to the brink of wanting to wring his neck.

Pulling the gray cape tighter around his body Greg rubbed the soft material carefully between his finger-tips. Even during the height of his sailing career he’d never been able to afford something like this. Of course Mycroft's little kept ‘pet’ couldn’t be seen in rags. Bloody hell he could use a drink right about now.

The only pub he’d heard anything about was the one Molly used to work at. He’d been in his fair share of whorehouses, not that he’d spent much time taking advantage of the services offered. There was something off putting about wondering if the woman beneath you was enjoying herself or counting out the payment in her head.

With it being more middle of the day the patrons were a mix of men who never really left, or those just now leaving. The working girls were done up, offering promising smiles as he walked to the bar. How had Molly made it working here? He couldn’t picture the sweet Molly Hooper being a vixen that smiled while secretly tugging her blouse down to offer a better ‘view’.

Turning to face the bar Greg felt all of his attention go to the woman standing behind it. Her black dress was more modestly cut but somehow more tempting, her hair done up in a fashion that left her pale throat bare, and her lips were stained blood red. “Ms. Adler?” Greg grinned as she gave a smile.

“Captain Lestrade? Molly has told me so much about you but she left out some of the best parts it seems.” Irene chuckled warmly, gesturing to the seat in front of her. Her eyes lit up after scanning the cape, her gaze lingering now at his hair.

“Molly’s told me about you. Didn’t quite do you justice.” Greg chuckled, flashing a bright smile as he gave a little wink. John might have more charm when it came to women but he wasn’t exactly lacking himself.

Tsking softly Irene poured out a drink, pushing it across the bar top. “Shame on you, Captain. What would big brother Holmes say if he heard you talking like that to me?” She teased, reaching over to run a finger-tip down the soft fabric. “And what taste our dear Mycroft has.”

It certainly had been too long since he’d had a woman pay him such attention, or anyone pay this kind of attention to him. His heart started beating a little harder as he smirked, tipping his glass towards Irene before taking a large sip.

The delicious burn traveled down into his gut, leaving him lightheaded for a second or two. Coming back to himself Greg realized Irene was speaking, but he hadn’t caught a single word of it. “Sorry, Ms. Adler, could you repeat that?” He asked with an embarrassed cough.

Laughing softly Irene went to pour more into his glass. “Irene, please. I was merely thanking you for talking Molly into becoming Anderson's assistant on a more permanent basis. Lovely woman but she didn’t quite cut it in this line of work. She’s beautiful in that shy, virgin way that men just eat up, wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”

Greg took another drink, feeling a little strange picturing Molly in such a way. “Greg. If you don’t mind.” He didn’t exactly feel like ‘Captain Lestrade’ being stuck here like this. “Molly is an amazing woman.” He agreed.

“Just not your type? I can see you being the man who loves a woman that makes him beg.” Her voice went lower, more of a growling purr that ran over his skin. His fingers tightened around the whiskey glass, mind going straight to the only person that honestly made him beg.

Nothing womanly about that person.

As he went to get up a soft hand grabbed his wrist, somehow anchoring him to the bench. “Leaving before finishing your drink? Don’t be so wasteful. Besides, I’m charging it to Mycroft.” She chuckled, nails delicately brushing over his pulse.

Bloody hell. At one point he would have been nothing but a drooling lap dog for a woman like this. Even now Greg could feel his body reacting as Irene Adler teased him.  
“I don’t think Mycroft would be fine with sharing.” Greg tossed back, hating himself for thinking it.

“Of course not. Mycroft can say what he wants but he’s just as childish as Sherlock. They never were good at sharing.” She chuckled, resting her palm over his wrist now. “Which is truly a shame.”

Something clicked in his mind. Something Molly had said before. 

“I have a feeling they’re not the only childish ones, Ms. Adler.” Greg removed her hand, giving another salute with the whiskey before finishing his glass. “We both know whatever you’re doing here, right now, is to just get under Mycroft's skin.” He added with a knowing look.

When she went to pour more into his glass Greg let her fill the glass half way. If it was being charged to Mycroft didn’t the bastard at least owe him a drink?

“It’s not all about sex, you know.” Irene said casually, eyes growing dark as if drifting away in thought. “An attractive face contorted in pain, pupils blown in lust.” She let out a small moan that drew the attention of nearby patrons.

Greg felt his face flame up as she just smiled. She was just as bad as Mycroft! Doing just about anything to get a reaction from him. Irene was just better at it.

“Not nearly as much fun as playing with little Holmes.” She sighed. “Now, is it true Sherlock actually kidnapped Doctor Watson?”

“I guess you could call it that.” Greg replied; gut wrenching as he remembered why he was even still here. Mycroft apparently hadn’t told anyone about what might have happened to Sherlock, but Greg had a feeling it wouldn’t be taken kindly if he were to say anything.

“I was going to buy him, you know.”

“What?”

“Doctor Watson. Don’t look at me like that. John is a very handsome man but I don’t run into the need much for someone like him. He’s a skilled doctor, and it would be wise to have one around.”

It was easy to guess why. And John would be added muscle to use around the pub. “When they return I’m taking him back to London. Sorry to take away your doctor.” Greg chuckled.

Irene turned to another man who gestured for her attention. “If you still want to return to London.”

The words alone could have been brushed off as nothing. Easy to forget. It was just that cocky tone. Like she knew he would never want to leave.  
“Thank you, Ms. Adler. Been a real pleasure.”

Outside he didn’t feel anything but the afterglow of good whiskey, and a crushing confusion that he tried not to focus on too much. Everything for him was back in London. Here? To be a kept personal whore for a pirate? And not just any pirate. A man who was legend even among other pirates!

A damn pirate!

A right pain in the arse honestly. 

The walk back left him wishing he’d just remained in the pub for a little while longer. At least until he saw Molly right inside, next to a very alert looking Athena. Something was different about Molly right now. Instead of a maid uniform she just wore a plain dress, hair pulled into a neat bun. Which meant she was here with Anderson.

“Where’s Mycroft?”

 

This blithering buffoon as doing far more harm than good as far as Mycroft was concerned. Sherlock could surely have an enjoyable time when he found out about this.

Blast. Sherlock. It was still far too early to know anything but Mycroft couldn’t help but think about it. Which was a waste of energy. He would know soon enough and worrying over it was just sentimental waste.

A sharp pain in his left wrist nearly had him utterly a much undignified stream of curses. “I don’t believe it’s broken, Mr. Holmes.” Anderson gave a frown, setting the freshly set wrist down on the bed.

Oh honestly!

“Doctor Anderson, if you are quite finished.” Mycroft kept the strain from his voice as he pulled himself up in bed. Thankfully he was still fully dressed on top of the duvet but this wouldn’t have been his first choice. After falling he’d woken up here, which meant Athena must have had someone carry him here. Someone touching him. Mycroft repressed a shiver as Anderson turned back to him.

“I will require nothing for pain. Thank you, Doctor.” Mycroft said firmly before the man could even start speaking. This pain was nothing he couldn’t handle. Having his brain dulled by whatever nonsense Anderson carried in his bag was just not an option.

The bedroom door was pushed open, further interrupting their conversation, as Gregory walked in. Now, this was a surprise.

He looked a little blurry around the eyes, lips pulled into a determined line.

“I see Ms. Adler tempted you with some of her private stock of drink.” Mycroft commented with a polite smile.

Anderson let out a frustrated noise, gesturing to the door. “If you’d please.”

Both men tensed when Gregory's eyes narrowed, body language shifting to a more commanding stance. “Excuse me? I think I’m fine right here.”

Mycroft felt something else stirring as he watched this scene unfold. Intriguing to say the least.

Anderson cleared his throat softly, nodding as he shifted attention back to Mycroft but he obviously didn’t forget about the silver haired man standing nearby. “Mr. Holmes, I would recommend something for the pain. I have a fresh shipment of hemp, which I’ve found works wonders.”

“I do hate repeating myself, Doctor.”

“He’ll take some. I don’t care what you say, Mycroft, but I know if you don’t have something you won’t bloody well shut up.”

Mycroft tensed at the scolding, watching Gregory coolly as Anderson cleared his throat in question. Never breaking eye contact from Lestrade he gave a sharp nod. “Leave some. I suspect you will be back in a day’s time to check on the healing process. That will be all, Doctor Anderson.” 

What did Gregory think he was playing at? The slight flicker of emotion in his eyes, the tight expression around the lips and eyes.

“My, Gregory, are we worried?” He chuckled.

“I need you alive. No telling if the person who takes over for you will keep our agreement.” Was the reply back. Reasonable. Believable. A tad bit disappointing but that emotion was pushed down before it even fully formed.

Without the distraction of Anderson buzzing around the room Mycroft went to get up, nearly going light headed from the wave of pain in his arm. A steady hand forced him back into a sitting position on the bed top, though it was more surprise than anything that actually had him staying there.

“I’m not a doctor but ‘resting’ might be one of the things he told you to do, aye?”

“Honestly.” Mycroft snorted, starting to move until the dark eyes froze him in place.

 

The hemp tea smelled rather strange. Greg had heard about it before in regards to pain but he’d never actually tried the stuff himself. Mainly something for people that could afford the time to let their pain run its course.

“Doctor Anderson said it can be either smoked or drank in a tea. I just thought Mr. Holmes would prefer a tea to try it.” Molly rambled, pouring boiling water over the small tea bag. “He says it’s just a simple sprain but. . keep an eye on it, won’t you? The swelling bothers me.” She added softly with a little blush.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Molly. You want me to get that?” He asked, nodding towards the tray. Anderson had ordered Molly to stay behind but Greg would have preferred Molly go after Anderson before he could be left alone with another patient.

“He’s more likely to listen to you anyway.” She sighed, biting at her lower lip for a second in thought. “I’ll come by tonight.”

Athena was already gone, leaving Molly to let herself out but she knew the house as well as anyone after working in it.

In the bedroom his intention was to simply leave the tray by the bed and leave, giving Mycroft plenty of privacy. From the closet Greg heard the faint sound of a pained grunt before a tiny curse.

Not his problem. Mycroft could call for someone if he honestly needed help.

At the door Greg paused, glancing at the cracked door separating Mycroft from his view.

“Mycroft? You need anything?”

“I am quite fine. That will be all, Gregory.”

His voice sounded winded. What if he fell again?

Cursing himself Greg went to check on him, smirking when the man tensed and try to cover up out of reflex. The pale freckles stood out more so than usual, making it clear just how pale Mycroft had gotten straining himself.

“Call me crazy but I have a feeling that’s not just a sprain.” Greg sighed, walking over to help Mycroft finish changing. “The tea beside your bed is supposed to help with your pain, and Molly is going to check on you tonight.” He kept talking to layer over the awkward silence on Mycroft's end. Who was obviously not pleased with taking the offered help.

The tea had gotten a little cooler by the time Mycroft was back in bed but it was still drinkable. Even if the smell was more obvious. Not unpleasant but a strong earthy scent that had Mycroft turning his head in dramatic disgust.

“There’s no reason for you to be here, Gregory.” Mycroft said firmly.

“I’m not going anywhere until you drink this.”

“And why, pray tell, do you care how I handle my pain management? Keeping me alive is one thing but actually _worrying_ over my pain? It certainly gives the wrong impression.”

 

Instead of Gregory leaving in an embarrassed huff the delicate china was forced into his good hand, silent orders to drink.

Nothing could really be said in regards to taste. At least the tea was doing its job but along with that Mycroft felt his brain grow fuzzy.

No. That didn’t really make sense.

Peculiar. Strange. Fuzzy.

No!

Setting the cup aside he gave a small sigh before his lips curled into a smile Mycroft didn’t even notice until he noticed Gregory's confused look.  
Clearing his throat he laid back, wiping the smile from his face. “That will be all, Gregory.”

He had heard a symptom of hemp usage was losing control of ones senses. If that was the case better to have Gregory out before that happened.  
“-croft? Mycroft?”

When had he closed his eyes? Opening them slowly Mycroft watched the amusement on the other's face, only giggling softly.

“Maybe I should start slipping that into your tea.” He heard Gregory tease before feeling fingers check his pulse.

“This cape matches your hair. I think it was a very good choice on my part.” Mycroft started talking, reaching out to grab the soft material. The moment he’d seen it Gregory had come to mind. The man truly was one of the most handsome men he’d ever come across. How lucky for him Sherlock hadn’t taken a fancy to him instead of John.

Even covered Mycroft knew just how perfectly toned Lestrade still was. Months of being kept captive had done nothing negative for him. Whereas he could think about having a tart and his stomach would swell, much to the delight of his younger brothers teasing.

A warm hand covered his where it still played with the cape, drawing his eyes up. Why did Gregory look so worried?

“I am completely fine, Gregory. You may leave.” He hoped his voice sounded as even as it did in his head.

“You won’t let go, Mycroft.”

 

The hand dropped from his cape as if burned. Confused eyes looking down at the hands now resting in his lap. Was this normal? Mycroft was acting like a first time drunk. Now would be a perfect time to leave. After all, there wasn’t another reason for him to stay; except Greg had a feeling Mycroft wanted him to.

Growing ever more annoyed with himself Greg undid the clasp at his throat, tossing the cape onto the small couch by the window. From experience he could say the mossy green chair wasn’t that comfortable but it matched the overall theme of the room, which was why it was picked most likely. Besides, he wouldn’t be in here long. Just long enough for Mycroft to fall asleep.

After a few minutes of silence broken only by the sound of Mycroft murmuring to himself he glanced back to the bed, raising an eyebrow. “Do you. . want something to eat?”  
Mycroft had a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before smiling warmly. “Mrs. Hudson makes excellent cake.” He commented. “No. No. Sherlock will never let me hear the end of it. _‘Oh, Mycroft, another ounce gained! I see that diet was a failure’_.”

This was new. Whatever relationship the brothers had Mycroft never actually talked about it. Greg didn’t know Sherlock that well but it sounded a little too bitter coming from Mycroft to be completely fabricated. And Sherlock was much more slender than his older brother from the times he had seen the younger Holmes.

Not that Mycroft looked poorly. A little pudgy in the stomach area but he actually didn’t mind it. “Do you want a cake from Mrs. Hudson?” That name. He knew it from Molly talking about the older woman who used to own the pub before Irene did.

“Can you not hear, Gregory? I said no.”

“Oi, fine then. No reason to act like a brat.” He sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.

 

Molly had a far more delicate touch when she handled patients. Until now Greg had never see her in action but she was just as brilliant as he’d always thought she would be. Even handling Mycroft she was grand. He’d say something biting out of reflex from pain, and she’d calmly retort or ignore.

The tea had worn off by the time Mycroft had woken up, and refused more of the pain dulling drink. If he wanted to suffer that was his own concern, and Greg didn’t have it in him to force the point. So, he’d sat in there listening to Mycroft's every sound, making sure the pain wasn’t becoming too much for the man. Not that it was his business. He was just lingering around to make sure there was no chance Mycroft would die.

Following Molly outside the bedroom Greg chuckled softly, nodding back towards the closed doors. “That was pretty impressive handling back there.”

Her face turned pink as she smiled, shaking her head. “If you can handle Sherlock it’s easier to deal with Mycroft.”

“Never met the bloke but you’re amazing to watch. Just take the compliment.” He teased, patting her shoulder.

“Well, it’s not broken but the sprain is a bit worse than I believe Doctor Anderson thought. He needs to rest it for at least a month or it could grow worse.”  
“Maybe you should be telling him that.”

The look on her face made something in his stomach knot nervously. “Greg, he’ll listen to you.”

That uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind came glaring to the surface, making it nearly impossible to ignore. Mycroft was right; him lingering around had given the wrong impression. “If you’ll excuse me, Molly.” He forced a smile, heart pounding as he started for his own room.

Mycroft wouldn’t suffer any complications that would result in deat. If he refused to take whatever the doctor gave him for pain that was his own bed to sleep in. It wasn’t his place to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through that? Thank you! You're fantastic!!!
> 
> Comments comments comments!! I love comments. They help so much. If you can't that's completely fine. I just hope you're enjoying the story. Kudos are also nice. As usual if you feel the story doesn't deserve kudos yet I would be thankful to know why, if you have time. Just so I know how I could improve. :3
> 
> Thank you again!!


	9. Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to audreyneedsacase. Wonderful beta-reader. <3
> 
> And a huge thank you to everyone that reads this. Seriously. Thank you so so much.

Their rooms weren’t side by side but close enough so it had been convenient for Mycroft. Now it just made it easier for Greg to hear the sound of Molly entering and leaving Mycroft's room. Years of working on ships had made him able to sleep through everything but every little sound now jerked him from the brink of sleep.

Lying there Greg winced at what sounded like Mycroft groaning in pain. Couldn’t be though. Rolling over to bury his face into a pillow he tried to ignore what had to be his mind making stuff up.

“Mr. Holmes!”

That had been Molly.

Greg was already in a dressing gown and half way to the door before he could finish the string of curses slipping from his lips. Mycroft's door was shut but he could hear Molly's frustrated tone through the wood. Without so much as a knock he threw the door open, glaring towards the bed as Molly jumped and looked towards him.

“Mr. Lestrade, I’m sorry if I woke you.” Molly started, cheeks going pink.

“I’m sure it’s not your fault, Molly. What’s going on here?”

Mycroft looked flushed, sweat shining at his forehead. And he was breathing a little hard. No doubt in pain but refusing to take the tea Molly was offering. At least Greg assumed that she was offering more of that tea, since she still held a steaming cup in her hands.

“Ah, well. . “ She glanced back towards Mycroft worriedly. Fingers nervously stroking the china in her hands.

Walking over to take the cup Greg gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, nodding towards the door. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I can keep an eye on him for a little while.” He offered. It took another few minutes to convince her to go but exhaustion won out in the end.

Alone with Mycroft he turned, holding the cup out. “You look like you could use it, Mycroft. Have you eaten anything?”

Silence.

Couldn’t make this easy, could he?

Sighing softly Greg sat the cup aside, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Mycroft, just drink the bloody tea! You look like you’re about to be sick from the pain. Would it be more embarrassing to act like a drunk or be sick and need my help then?”

Red coloring dusted along Mycroft's face before he glanced towards the tea, lips turning down in a frown. Taking the opportunity Greg took the cup to hand it over, feeling relieved when the strange smelling tea had been drank down.

Right away there was an obvious tension that eased away as Mycroft relaxed into the stack of pillows behind him. “Not so bad.” Greg chuckled, getting up to head for the couch. He’d offered to stay in here until Molly got some rest but that didn’t mean he couldn’t rest a little bit himself, right?

 

This feeling again tore at his mind, leaving Mycroft more than a little humiliated. Gregory obviously didn’t see the effects right away but he could feel them. That slowing down hazy feeling that took away the sharpest edge of the pain but at what cost?

“Is this how all of you think on a good day? How dreadfully horrid.” Mycroft found himself saying before mentally groaning. He wasn’t Sherlock. He knew better than to just sprout whatever had crossed his mind. For a moment he hoped the words hadn’t actually been spoken aloud but Gregory's look made it clear something had been said.

“You may go, Gregory. I require no further assistance.”

“Don’t start that again. If it’s not me I’ll go get Molly but she needs some rest first.”

Something he always tried to ignore grew hotter in the pit of his stomach, making itself almost impossible to ignore. “The way you treat Miss . Hooper gives the wrong impression but I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. Many have sworn they’ve caught you two in a fond embrace.” Mycroft laughed softly, a somewhat chipper sound that didn’t sound all that happy. “Obviously that’s far from the truth. You care for Ms. Hooper but there’s nothing sexual about it, on either side.”

There was a somewhat awkward silence before he heard Gregory speak again. “What exactly is your point?” He sounded tired, worried.

What was his point?

What was the bloody point? Why had he said that?

His good hand rubbed at his face, trying to erase this fuzzy feeling that threatened to take over.

“There is no point. Go away, Gregory.” That strained voice couldn’t be his but Mycroft knew with a sinking feeling it was.

Gregory didn’t have to repeat his question for Mycroft to hear it echo over and over in his head. What was he supposed to say? The truth? The truth was that he hated the relationship between Gregory and Molly . Ms. Hooper was a smart woman, just the type of person he had plenty of use for but he didn’t like the way she smiled at Gregory. He didn’t like the way Gregory laughed so openly with her.

They weren’t lovers but they were friends. 

“You sound jealous. Gives the wrong impression, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do NOT test me, Gregory.” He growled, glaring at the grinning figure across the room. Such a lovely smile. Mycroft flushed dark red when he noticed he was starting to return the grin lazily. It was that blasted tea!

 

For the next week Mycroft was ordered on bed rest. Doctor Anderson was worried about the sprain healing improperly, and Molly actually agreed with him. Thankfully the gossip hadn’t started. It was like swimming with sharks. One drop of blood in the water and they’d swarm.

Except here it was just humans he had to worry about. Which were the nastier of the two, if someone were to ask him.

Athena kept him informed of everything though. Every afternoon she brought what couldn’t be ignored and more information on if there had been any ‘interesting’ talks.

Today was such a day but it was hard to focus again. His wrist was swollen again and painful to the touch. “That will be all, Athena.” He dismissed her quickly when the pain made it too hard to actually take in her words.

“That was fast.”

“Gregory, leave. I have no need for you.” Mycroft sighed, following the sound of approaching footsteps behind closed eyes. A cool touch to his wrist brought out a surprised hiss of pain as his eyes flew open, glaring at the cold compress on his wrist.

“It’ll help.” Gregory was already at the large windows, back facing him.

Adjusting the cold, somewhat damp, cloth on the swollen wrist Mycroft allowed his eyes to scan the others figure openly. Gregory had been oddly attentive but it was most likely a hefty dose of misplaced affection for his captor. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time one of his captives had turned out like this. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe everything Gregory did was from some deep fondness. They enjoyed each other’s bodies but that didn’t equal affections.

 

Did Mycroft really think he couldn’t feel that piercing gaze? It just felt like a trembling sensation down his spine but it was there.

When Molly wasn’t here he was, or at least paying close attention nearby since Mycroft wouldn’t dream of actually asking for help. Man acted like it might just kill him to do so. Pride was like that though. Even men like Mycroft were guilty of letting their pride take control.

Turning back around he found Mycroft relaxing against the pillows, eyes closed as if he just hadn’t been staring at him. “Just keep that on your wrist for a while. I’ll tell’em to bring in the tub?”

That at least earned a pleased smile from the other. It was more just a slight up-turn of his lips on the right side but Greg knew what it meant at least. Cleanliness was something Mycroft didn’t leave up as an option for anyone who came to his home. Much to his servants' chagrin Mycroft enjoyed an actual soaking bath at least every other day and still hot water when he cleaned up between those days.

As the tub was brought in to rest near the fire Greg went to help bring water up where it would heat over the fire for a few moments before being poured into the tub. All in all the process took a considerable amount of time but if it kept the master of the house happy the servants were willing to continue with it if given the choice.

The room cleared after the hot water was poured into the large brass tub, leaving them alone now.

“I do not need your assistance.” Mycroft blushed, pushing the duvet from his lap before moving to stand.

At the slightest stumble Greg took a few steps forward before coming to a halt, his own face red and heart pounding. No. If Mycroft refused his help that was fine. It wasn’t his concern.

Still, Molly would kill him if Mycroft hurt himself in the bath.

“I’ll just be over here. You can pretend I’m not even here, aye?” Greg said as he sat on the couch he still didn’t think was very comfortable. He also made it a point to look away since Mycroft wouldn’t disrobe with anyone watching him.

From this angle on the couch he could catch slight reflections in the window, one of which was the man standing only a few feet away. Trying to pull his sleeping gown off with one hand.

Without a word Greg was up and across the room, pulling the robe off with a silent glare that dared Mycroft to say anything.

In the tub Mycroft quickly turned a flushed pink color, making a few patches of freckles stand out even more. Not that Greg was paying attention to that.

“If you keep staring, Gregory, I might start to think you’re genuinely worried.”

“At least I’m not waiting until your back is turned.” He snapped.

 

Oh, noticed that, had he? Mycroft wanted to play if off as nothing or even twist words around until Gregory was sure he’d only imagined it. Though, honestly, he was tired. The pain in his wrist was spreading through his arm, and his head was starting to hurt as well.

Sighing softly he looked away while leaning back into the warm back of the tub, letting the water soothe him. Hands hotter than the water were suddenly at his shoulders but Mycroft didn’t bother opening his hands. Pathetic as it was he knew exactly who they belonged to.

“Impressions, Gregory.”

“Shut up, Mycroft.” He sighed, hands working out the kinks in his shoulders. “Unless you actually want me to stop?”

Those oddly wonderful hands started to retreat, leaving cold spots behind. “It is of little concern to me.” He lied smoothly. “Of course, a little rubdown couldn’t hurt. Do please continue.” It was better to make this sound like an order instead of a request. Still, when Gregory went back to rubbing his shoulders it was hard to control the little sigh of pleasure.

Behind him the kneeling figure chuckled, fingers digging in deeper. Slowly they were worked down to his arms, almost in the water. It caused Gregory to lean in closer, making Mycroft realize the ‘problem’ he was now having.

Wonderful.

 

Greg was amazed at how soft Mycroft was. His own body was littered with scars from over the years, and his hands were calloused from ship work. Mycroft felt just as soft as any woman he’d had under his hands. He must have noticed it before but, then again, whenever they’d had sex in the past there hadn’t been much time to focus on things like that.  
Leaning in closer he placed a kiss to the back of Mycroft's neck, smirking against the pale flesh when the man gasped. When Mycroft started to tense he just rolled his eyes, finger-tips dipping into the water as they went to the soft stomach.

“Gregory.” The tone made him glance up, only to meet eyes gone nearly black from arousal. It didn’t cross his mind not to lean closer and kiss Mycroft, those lips were just too much of a temptation.

Mycroft tensed suddenly, starting to pull back. Pulling away as well Greg caught the flash of pain, cursing himself. This wasn’t exactly going to help with resting that wrist, was it?

A little embarrassed now that that mood had been killed somewhat both men focused on the bathing itself. With Greg's help it didn’t take that long so Mycroft didn’t have to soak in cold water or move his wrist around that much.

Getting Mycroft out of the bath, dried, and dressed took a bit more effort. After accidentally brushing the front side of Mycroft's body Greg felt heat surge through his gut, causing his mouth to go dry.

“You hardly need to act so surprised. You’ve felt it before.” Mycroft huffed, turning away once he was again in a dressing gown.

This was really where his involvement needed to end. Mycroft didn’t need any more help. It would be smart to just leave now.

“I guess I’m just surprised you’d get aroused from me just touching your shoulders. What does that say about you, Mycroft?”

 

It was the tone that surprised him. Actually surprised him! This pain really must have been affecting his mind if something like this was enough to make him pause. Glancing over his shoulder Mycroft faked a somewhat disgusted sneer, looking down his nose at Gregory. He refused to appear weak by showing that he was taken by surprise.

Slowly his lips curled into a smirk that had caused men to mentally crumble at his feet. Dressing gown or not Mycroft Holmes was not a man who doubted his superiority. Even over this man that he could admit, at least to himself, stood a head above the rest.

“I will not dignify that with a reply, Gregory. That will be all.” He kept his voice firm as he turned away, going towards the bed. A hand was suddenly at his waist, fingers digging into his side. Not unpleasant but just sudden.

Like at his shoulders the fingers were the perfect amount of pressure, easing up at the right moment and sending wave after wave of bliss from his side to the rest of his body. His good hand finally listened to his brain, grabbing Gregory’s hand and pulling it away from his body.

Gregory didn’t fight or protest but he did step closer, nearly pressing the front of his body against Mycroft's side where his good wrist was.

“Didn’t Doctor Anderson say I should avoid strenuous activities?” Mycroft asked, dropping the others hand and going to prop himself back in bed comfortably. “Here.”

It was impossible to deny that his arousal had come back full force, and why not use the stunning man here simply for his pleasure?

The silver haired figure stopped by the edge of the bed, eyes roving down his covered form. There was a moment of old fears about what Gregory must think of his body. Even in his prime Mycroft hadn’t been the most fit of men but thankfully middle age hadn’t been too cruel. 

“Mr. Holmes?” A soft knock at the door had the heated lust crumbling from Lestrade's eyes, souring Mycroft's mood considerably. Pulling the covers over his lap he gave a mental sigh.

“Enter.”

Doctor Anderson halted when he entered, glancing from Gregory to Mycroft.

“Gregory was just leaving .”

 

Oh was he?

“Right. Just. . if you need something I’ll be nearby.”

Greg lingered for a moment, heart still racing from the excitement of only a few seconds ago when he’d been ready to rip that fancy dressing gown to pieces. “Right.” He murmured, leaving quickly before he could embarrass himself further.

What had he been thinking?

Alone in his own room Greg tried to remind himself it would be over soon. He would be returning to London and all of this mess could just fade into something he might remember when there was nothing else to recall.

It would all be over soon.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

Keeping track of however long they had been stuck here grew somewhat tiresome. It was something they never really discussed but John knew Sherlock harbored little hope for them being found . Still, the fire on the beach was kept going on some slim chance of a passing ship seeing it.

Wiping sweat off his forehead John tossed another chunk of wood into the flames, stepping back quickly when sparks flew out. Horrible odds or not he certainly wasn’t going to not try. Hearing a disgruntled huff behind him John rolled his eyes, glaring over his shoulder.

“What is it now, Sherlock?”

“Your layering of the wood leaves little room to add more pieces later.”

“Really? You’re complaining about how I’ve done the wood again?”

Sherlock stepped in closer, gesturing wildly to the burning pile as he started in how John should have done it. Which resulted in John first defending how he’d done it, to then saying it really didn’t matter how it was done.

“Still bloody burning!” He snapped.

Sherlock Holmes was still one of the most mentally grinding people he’d ever met but there was nothing actually bitter behind that thought. Watching the man ramble John gave a small sigh, letting him talk. Either way it was going to be said so better to let him get it all out now.

After a moment or two Sherlock halted mid-sentence, glaring down at him. “Do not indulge me like a child, John.”

“I think it’s been made clear I don’t see you as a child, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock tried to resist grinning but was forced to turn away when John smirked up at him. Whatever tension had formed crumbled as they stood there laughing together.

There were no more awkward silences when it came to whatever they had. Sherlock wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was perfect. Here no one could find out and it relaxed any moral objections John might have harbored. That was fine with him.

That meant John was his for however long they were stuck on this island. A voice in the back of his mind hoped they would never be found here. The news he needed to share with Mycroft would remain here, leaving his elder brother with a rather nasty surprise in the long run but that same voice asked why should he care? There was nothing that could be done, and Sherlock had never been the type to actually stress about anything.

Remembering an experiment back at camp Sherlock gave John a small nod before disappearing into the trees. “Don’t use any more of the fish! I mean it, Sherlock!” John yelled out behind him.

Rolling his eyes he kept walking, pretending not to hear. What else was he supposed to do on the island?

Back at camp Sherlock was greatly agitated to find the experiment not needing as much attention he’d thought. Taking down the disappointing stats of the experiment he spent more time than needed checking and re-checking before giving up.

With nothing better to do he headed back to the river to collect mud samples. With his arm still healing John had been a tad bit lenient on what he said Sherlock should be doing, so he didn’t even need to worry about John getting annoyed with him.

Olivia found it necessary to jump right into the water the moment Sherlock knelt beside the bank, splashing the curly haired man with the same mud he was about to collect. Sputtering he tried to quickly wipe the mess out of his eyes, falling onto his arse into a wet spot.

Now somewhat dripping and filthy Sherlock rolled his eyes as the culprit swam in the deeper section of the river.

Stripping down to wash off in the river he rinsed the mud off before pulling the bandages off his arm, checking the healing wound carefully. Nothing more than an annoying cut. John was truly. . amazing. The doctor had taken care of it from the start, and there hadn’t been so much as a trace of infection. Which had been the biggest worry.

“Sherlock?”

He turned around quickly, brushing wet curls out of his face. “The experiment wasn’t ready.”

“So you decided to take a swim?” He sounded more amused than confused as he eyed the section of Sherlocks chest he could see.

“Unforeseen circumstances.”

John cleared his throat in attempts to muffle the laugh before kneeling by the water, nodding towards Sherlocks arm. “Any pain?”

“As I have already said it is fine. No discomfort, nor bleeding. It would be safe to start leaving off the bandages.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Come closer.”

 

The moment he said that John knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Silver-blue eyes darkened in response, cupid bow mouth curling into a smirk. The cheeky bastard actually stepped further away into the water.

“Sherlock, I need to see your arm.” He sighed.

“Then come look at it. It makes more sense for you to join me, since you’ve been stealing glances at where the water covers my waist.”

Had he really? John blushed lightly as his gaze hardened. “Sherlock Holmes, I am your doctor and I need to see your arm. Come here!” His voice echoed in the jungle for a second or two, even managing to stun Sherlock if his rigid posture was anything to go by.

With the arm in reach John did his best to check for anything negative. The fact Sherlock was kneeling naked in front of him was easy to ignore when he was more worried about this arm still getting infected. There had been too many times where things took a quick turn for worse, and he’d be damned if that was going to happen to Sherlock.

Turning the arm carefully he watched Sherlock's face for a reaction. Pupils slightly dilated, not exactly the reaction he was looking for. Unable to help himself John glanced downward, cheeks growing warm.

“Are you not worried about your patient catching cold, Doctor Watson?”

That blasted arrogance carried into the bedroom quite well. All the times John had heard the crew debating if Sherlock was a virgin or not seemed so laughable now when that same Sherlock was practically undressing him with his eyes.

The mud soaking through the knees of his trousers went ignored as John pulled Sherlock closer, fingers already tangling in the wet mess of curls. His other hand trailed down the smooth back, only making it half way before going to Sherlock's hip. They never spoke of the scar on Sherlocks lower back , and John didn’t dare ask. Didn’t take a mind reader to know Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it.

“Human error.”

John struggled to get enough blood back to his brain to think clearly. “Hm?” He questioned, sitting back as Sherlock turned his face away.

“You go out of your way to avoid that. . mark. I will only say it was the result of human error on my part.”

Sherlock sounded so utterly disgusted. John hoped it wasn’t directed at himself but it certainly wouldn’t be surprising, he’d been exposed to Sherlocks utter contempt for social standards of emotion. Bringing his hand around John brushed his finger-tips over the raised tissue. About the size of his palm. Obviously had hurt but that wasn’t what made Sherlock tremble now. 

John didn’t dare try to label what this was between them. Anywhere except this island their shared pleasure would only earn them scorn but here John could somewhat admit he didn’t like seeing Sherlock like this.

“Stop thinking. Right now.” John sighed, kissing him softly.

Without warning John found himself pushed against the ground, a pale figure straddling his lap. John remembered saying something about the coconut oil, but most of the blood was flooding his lower region at an embarrassing rate as Sherlock ground against him.

It took some ushering but before John knew it they were back at camp, the freshly stuffed pallet far more promising than the muddy bank of a river.

Lying Sherlock out on his stomach John placed firm kisses along his shoulder blades, massaging his hips gently.

“John. .”

Chuckling softly he bit at the juncture between Sherlock's throat and shoulder, smirking at the shiver. Being with just any man didn’t hold the same appeal as it did when he thought about Sherlock.

Sitting back John admired the long back, a sight he’d actually never enjoyed so openly. When his eyes landed on the scar he refused to react at first, taking in the palm sized spider that had been so very carefully carved there. It must have taken hours.

There had been plenty of times he’d lost his temper, a family trait he’d inherited. Instead of anger he felt a cold burning rage towards a faceless figure that had done this.

No. This wasn’t about him. John closed his eyes for a second to breathe , clearing out most of the mind numbing rage that nearly made him dizzy with its intensity.

Reaching over to a small jar he coated his fingers in the smooth oil, other hand using Sherlocks hip to pull his lower body upward.

At the first touch to the puckered hole Sherlock tensed, a loud gasp filling the hut as John circled the hole with one finger.

 

Pressing his forehead against the rough texture of the mat Sherlock tried to control the groan that worked its way up. As if sensing the struggle John pushed up to the first knuckle inside him, ripping the groan out. The answering chuckle was cut off by him moaning, unable to control the wiggle of his hips.

The spot where John had bit him throbbed in tune with his pulse, giving Sherlock something to focus on when the agonizingly slow sensation of that finger pushing into him became too much.

As another finger was added Sherlock bit hard into his lip, tasting copper. John was always so careful with him, something that he wasn’t surprised by but somehow was, but right now he didn’t want gentle and caring.

Sherlock turned his head, heart racing at the sight of John watching him. There was an added factor with John still being fully dressed while he was completely nude . His mind quickly pictured the rough texture of the trousers rubbing against him as John took him, nearly causing him to go light headed. “John.” He hated how pleading his voice was but when their eyes met he cared just a little bit less.

“Right.” John sounded breathy, excited. Common when he was aroused from what Sherlock had noticed. There was an added tremble he would have to think about but for once in a very long time Sherlock felt his mind grow silent as the fingers were taken away, John moving around to undo his trousers.

There was nothing gentle now as he felt the head of Johns cock line up right before it was shoved into him.

Everything in his head silenced under the force of his cries. Sherlock could focus on nothing but the man taking him now, the fingers digging into his hips as John started fucking him.

His own length bobbed helplessly as he thrust back to meet the harsh movement. Even without being touched Sherlock felt himself getting closer.

“John!” Sherlock cried out, toes curling when his prostate was rubbed over and over. “There! Please!”

“Sherlock!” The sound of his own name was the tipping point, throat straining against the silent cry.

 

As loud and boisterous Sherlock was normally he was so silent when he came . John knew when it happened though. The way Sherlock started trembling as his body tightened perfectly around him.

“Sherlock.” John moaned again, drawing the name out as he gave a final thrust to empty inside him.

For a moment he could only lean over Sherlock's back, mindlessly trailing kisses down his spine. At a disgruntled huff from beneath him John pulled out to lie on his side, tugging Sherlock down with him.

When the sound of his heart beating wasn’t overwhelming John gave a small laugh, eyes closing as he kissed the mark he’d left on the other man. 

“Moriarty.”

John struggled to wake up. That name was almost as well known as ‘Holmes’ but for a much more bloody reason.

“Sherlock. .” John sighed when the body in his arms tensed.

“I rarely take interest in other people. Sexually it is. . almost unheard of. I find everyone to be dull witted, boring, not to mention disappointing.”

“Moriarty. You did say Moriarty, right?”

Sherlock sighed, and John could just picture the rolling of his eyes despite not being able to see his face. “Do try and keep up, John.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just. . Moriarty.”

“’The Professor’ .” Sherlock chuckled the name but with something closer to bitterness than amusement. “What few people know is he rarely gets his own hands dirty. He is. . far from boring.”

John frowned at the back of Sherlocks head but didn’t cut in. He wasn’t jealous.

“Mycroft would use him for information gathering. Always said James was more ‘approachable’ but everyone is more approachable than Mycroft.”

“It’s fine, Sherlock. You don’t need to tell me this.” John murmured. “It’s not important anymore.”

It was a little unnerving to think of his Sherlock. No no no. Not _his_ Sherlock. It was just a little unnerving to think of Sherlock being with a man like Moriarty, not that John knew a great deal.

A madman that no two people could give a description for. He’d come across a handful of men who claimed to have gotten out of Moriarty’s hands, only then to go on and say no one made it out alive.

Sherlock seemed grateful not to continue talking about Moriarty. Willingly taking the offer of sleep over conversation for once.

They fell asleep curled together, John only dozing after he felt Sherlock relax in his arms. 

 

Things were nice here. Not perfect but John could honestly say he was somewhat happy. He didn’t feel useless on the island. Back home he was a broken doctor with no real hopes for the future. Admittedly there wasn’t exactly a much more promising future on this giant rock but everyday John proved he was still able to survive. As well as take care of a man that he was sure wouldn’t have lived this long by himself.

All in all being here wasn’t as bad as John thought it could have been. Partly because of Sherlock as well.

John felt his body warm up at the thought of him. The even wilder curls being blown around the still pale face as he tried to think. What they had here wouldn’t exist like this back home, and not just because Sherlock was a pirate.

Maybe it was childish but was it hard to believe they were both rather happy here?

Sitting back in the sand John rubbed Olivia's belly, grinning at the dog. They’d both been shooed away by Sherlock when Olivia kept trying to get into the samples he was collecting.

Glancing up he started to think about catching crab when a dot in the distance caused his very heart to freeze. Months here and there had never been a trace. Never a damn trace! Standing quickly John ran towards the ocean, unable to yell with how hard his heart was pounding.

No. The fire was still going; the dark smoke should be seen.

There was a ship! A bloody ship!

“Sherlock!” He yelled, running now towards the line of trees. “Sherlock Holmes!”

 

“Sherlock!”

The thick wall he’d built around his thoughts shattered in a matter of seconds, leaving Sherlock somewhat dumbfounded as he looked up from the samples. John, obviously, but he sounded panicked? Not quite that. Excited. Breathless.

Standing up Sherlock tensed when the other burst through the foliage, gesturing where he’d just come from. Faintly he could make out the words ‘Fire’, ‘Ship’, ‘Saw’ and his chest froze up. Brushing past John he kept walking until the hot sand was beneath his feet.

On the horizon he could see it. Growing closer and closer. Behind him Johns labored breaths were mixed with his pleased chuckles. Didn’t he realize what this meant?  
Most likely not, and why would he care?

“One of Mycroft's ships. Captain Roberts.” Sherlock murmured, looking back at John. It was a moment of weakness.

Human error.

Reaching out Sherlock grabbed the front of Johns shirt, yanking the shorter man close as he leaned in closer to muffle the shocked noise with his lips. He needed this. Needed just one more something before Roberts landed and it was done.

For a heartbeat he swore Johns lips softened under his, and the hands at his shirt tightened before he was shoved backwards.

This was expected, if a little disappointing. 

“Sherlock.”

“I will see to it you’re sent back to England.” He said with a visual sweep of Johns body. A childish part of him relished when Johns eyes darkened, that muscle in his cheek twitching at what that mere statement implied. Another part hated for John to be so furious towards him. Well, this was what he had a true talent for. Saying just the perfectly wrong thing to make a person realize their affection was misplaced.

Turning away sharply Sherlock went to stand closer to the water, heart racing when the ship anchored further out and a smaller boat was sent. Olivia stood by him, ears perked up in question but as the boat came closer she ran back to John who hadn’t said another word.

 

They were getting off the island. His fingers twitched with the desire to place a hand over the knife at his waist but he held off. These weren’t exactly enemies anymore. Sherlock had said he’d make sure he was returned to England, right?

God, that had felt like a knife in the gut. What it implied about _them_. It forced him to swallow the bile threatening to rise.

Watching Sherlock interact with Captain Roberts he was somewhat amazed at the transformation. Wearing clothes that were barely rags he had that air about him already. The same one from when they first met.

This was Captain Sherlock Holmes, and even Roberts seemed less sure of himself under that firm gaze.

A rough hand grabbed Johns arm, squeezing hard until the doctor had the knife pressed against the would be assailants throat. More of a warning than any actual intent to kill.

Another hand went to his shoulder but John knew who it was. The gentle pressure eased the tension slowly until finally that deep chuckle reached his ears. “John, let me have the knife. Olivia! Down!”

Long fingers went to wrap around his hand holding the knife, removing the deadly instrument slowly as the hand still at Johns shoulder squeezed harder. For the second time in his life John Watson was taken prisoner by Sherlock Holmes. 

John bowed his head as his hands were yanked behind his back, only stopped by Sherlock stepping in. “I highly doubt Doctor Watson wishes to remain on the island. It will be more difficult getting him onto the ship if his hands are tied.” His voice dripped with scorn as if wondering how anyone could be this stupid.

“Captain Holmes has a point. Leave the binds off but he goes below deck the moment we’re on board.” Roberts said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder fondly.

John refused to look at any of them as he was ushered into the boat. Another few weeks and he would be home.

 

The hand at Sherlock’s shoulder was far from welcome. As it was though Roberts was the Captain for this voyage, and he had the last word on anything that might be done to John. Keep him happy and the worst that would happen was John being forced below deck until they reached port.

With no reason to linger they were on the ship within moments, where Sherlock was forced to watch as John was taken below. “Doctor Watson has proven himself a valuable asset.” Sherlock started, rolling his sleeve up to show the still fresh scar tissue. “I would appreciate it if he were treated carefully, Captain Roberts.” The fake sincerity tasted vile on his tongue but for a man like Roberts it did the trick.

Sherlock wanted to laugh when he saw the pleased gleam in Roberts eyes at being reminded he was, in fact, the Captain. Especially by a person like Sherlock.

“Of course, Holmes. You’re welcome to check in at any point to make sure we’re treating him fairly.” 

Already dropping ‘Captain’, hmm? Interesting.

Being back on a ship sent his mind on a whirlwind of sensation. Everything around him was telling him something. Silently but echoing loudly in the confines of his damn skull. Closing his eyes Sherlock let the new sensations settle. Something else was there, beating along with his heartbeat.  


_The game is on_.

Moriarty.

 

Greg and the women would have been sent back by now. Resting his head back against the solid wood John closed his eyes, trying to force his mind off. It had been at least two days since he’d been shoved down here. Two days of being stuck in his own head, reliving the last time this had happened but there was more of a silver lining.

Sherlock said he was going to be sent back to London. No worrying about a ransom no one would pay. His future was back where it had been months ago on his way back to London.

A small whimper drew his attention to the dog sitting right outside his cell, her big eyes wide and confused as she pawed at the opening between the bars. John chuckled softly as he went to kneel in front of Olivia, reaching through the bars to rub behind her ears.

“Who’s a good girl?” He praised, pointedly ignoring the man only a few feet behind her. Even without looking he knew Sherlock was dressed in clothes more suited for him, his hair trimmed once more, and his bloody eyes were on him! Felt as if they were burning a hole through him!

“When we reach port I will speak with my brother about sending you back. Consider the ransom a null point.” Sherlock sounded so cool and collected that it just sent his blood boiling all over again. It felt dirty to think of what they’d done as John paying off his ransom but Sherlock seemed rather fine with considering that.

As Olivia darted back to Sherlock's side she looked back at John with a questioning bark as if wondering why he wasn’t following.

“Am I supposed to say ‘thank you’?” John finally asked when he noticed Sherlock hadn’t left yet. Finally looking up the long frame John was glad the cell separated them.

“Lady Sawyer will be pleased to have you returned. If her affections haven’t already swayed but I’m sure the added drama of your added months will serve to bring her right back to you. Her father would be somewhat pleased with the match. Injury or not you’re a hero.”

John hadn’t realized Sherlock had come so close until the words echoed out of his head. Standing up he had to tilt his head back somewhat to keep eye contact.

“A war hero who marries into money. How wonderfully comfortable you’ll be, John.” The tone was civil, the words actually something others had joked about. It was the look in Sherlock's eyes that gave it away.

Reaching out he grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt, yanking him against the bars. Likewise Sherlock reached out to him, fingers of one hand grabbing his hair and the other tangled in the front of his shirt. Whatever he’d been about to yell was forgotten at the first touch of Sherlock's lips on his.

Only a few days and John felt like he would melt from just a kiss. Biting down on Sherlock's lower lip he smirked when the taller man moaned, trying to get more of him despite the very obvious obstacles.

Loud sounds from up on deck finally sunk in but neither seemed ready to pull away, their foreheads propped together through the bars.

“Tonight, John.” Sherlock purred against his lips before sucking temptingly on the lower one.

In a matter of moments he was gone, leaving John to stumble backwards until he slid down the ship side to the floor.

What the hell had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through all that? Great. You're fantastic! :3
> 
> Comments comments comments! I love them. They help so so much. I thrive on them, as weird as that might sound. Kudos are also lovely. As usual, if you feel the story doesn't warrant kudos yet that's perfectly fine.


	10. Stupid or Cowardly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gigantic thank you to my beta-reader audreyneedsacase. Puts up with my silly mistakes.Thank you very much again. <3
> 
> And a huge thank you to ya'll reading this! I can only hope you're still enjoying reading every chapter just as much as I am writing each one.

How long had he been waiting? John couldn’t say for sure but it seemed the smart bet to say it was already nightfall. Even without a porthole to show proof the movement above deck had slowed to barely anything. Which suggested it had to be after sunset at least.

With a little more force than necessary John hit the back of his head against the solid wood, relishing in the sharp jolt of pain. His shoulder was starting to hurt again and the slow throb of his head was a good distraction. Why was he still waiting? Closing his eyes John allowed his body to rest. He’d hear when Sherlock got there anyway.

It wasn’t noise that woke him. When he finally came to it was from a hand clamping down over his mouth, muffling the surprised shout. All but two of the lanterns had been put out, leaving the figure kneeling over him in mostly shadows but John would know those eyes anywhere. Like melted down crystals, if such a thing were possible.

As stupid as it was he relaxed under the touch, searching Sherlocks face. Slowly the hand was moved away, letting John breath through his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

Sherlock flushed slightly, seemingly taken back by the question. Instead of getting an answer or even a brush off John felt Sherlock surge forward to take his lips in a bruising, very distracting, kiss. For a moment it worked. The dam was slowly cracking as he reached up to run his hands along the finely clothed back. God help him he had missed this.

There was something Sherlock wasn’t telling him though. He could just feel it hanging in the air around them. Groaning softly John pulled his head back, keeping his hands resting lightly on Sherlocks hips. “Sherlock, whatever you’ve got to say best say it now, ya?”

The pale eyes narrowed on his face, kiss swollen lips turning down into a frown. “What makes you think it is any of your concern?”

John hated how those words hurt but fine, perfect. Just the sort of reminder he needed to remember that Sherlock was someone he really didn’t need to grow attached to.

“Right then.” John murmured, licking at his lower lip slightly before his grip grew tighter on the narrow hips and his own arched up. “Not here to talk. Should have guessed that.”

“John.” Sherlock struggled to keep his voice low, fingers digging into the arms currently holding him.

Within moments John had the other on his back, pinned to the hard floor as he trailed lips down the pale throat. Fine. If Sherlock wasn’t here to talk there were plenty of other things they could do instead. Long fingers gripped his hair, roughly yanking John up into another kiss as Sherlock rutted against him from below.

It went unspoken they didn’t have a lot of time but John knew how aroused he was already, and he could feel Sherlocks proof as their groins brushed together repeatedly.

Gripping the back of his lovers thighs John pushed his legs wider apart, moving down to rest between them. This was something he hadn’t done very much of but right now he wanted Sherlock undone and mewling because of him. If there wasn’t a lot of time to waste this was the best course of action.

John tried to memorize the long frame arching beneath him, the almost burning heat as his cheek was pressed into the others groin. Any other man and he might have been repulsed but with Sherlock there was only the desire to give more of what made him act like this.

Quickly as possible John had the ties undone, fingers of one hand wrapped around the solid length to give a few strokes.

“J-John!” Sherlocks voice was barely above a moaning whisper before he bit down on the back of a balled up fist.

Grinning to himself for a moment John kept stroking, watching Sherlock come undone. Just when his curly haired lover started to settle the hand was replaced by a set of eager lips.

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to praise John for being such a fast learner. At the moment though Sherlock wasn’t completely positive he could control the volume of his voice.

Biting harder at the back of his hand Sherlock reached down to grab at the others hair, hips bucking upward. The wet heat had almost perfect suction, and his tongue! John really had been paying attention.

Sherlock gave a warning tug as he came closer; adding in a weak groan that only seemed to increase the fevered pace John put himself at. His toes curled as the world went black, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

That didn’t make any sense. It was scientifically impossible for a heart to merely beat out of ones chest. 

Lying there spent and weak limbed Sherlock glanced down at John, grinning at the small grimace as he swallowed. Their time together was much shorter, if he wanted to taste John now would be the time.

Even with his bones feeling less than supportive Sherlock sat up, reaching out to pull John close. He could taste himself on Johns tongue, which was nearly enough to arouse him all over again.

Taking advantage of Johns stunned distraction he quickly slipped a hand between them, palming the erection tenting the front of Johns trousers. Sherlock undid the ties quickly, biting at the others lower lip as his hand wrapped around the straining cock.

If there was one thing he’d taken into notice about John since the start of their sexual relationship Sherlock knew John loved a verbal lover.

“Come for me, John.” He purred against Johns lips before taking the lower one back between his teeth. With only a few more strokes he felt the smaller man shudder in his arms, spilling his seed across both his hand and their clothes bodies.

 

John let out a silent prayer of thanks for having Sherlock to sag against after his release. His heart was pounding in his ears, lungs still trying to catch up. With what little energy was left John kissed him hard, grasping the tangled curls.

For a brief, wonderful, moment it was easy to forget where they were or that they were on a fixed time limit. It was Sherlock who pulled away first, carefully pushing John away as he stood and adjusted his clothes. The stain blended in with the dark material but he would need to change soon anyway. Too many questions.

Alone again John fixed his own clothes, heat spreading along his face. Being distracted by a few kisses and the promise of more. How weak willed had he gotten?

Thankfully sleep was quick to take over. When his body hit the cot John was lost in a dreamless sleep almost instantly.

 

Like before John was brought out on deck to work but there were noticeable differences between Sherlocks old crew and Captain Roberts lot. They were on friendly terms with their Captain, always bragging about him. What little contact John had with the man was short lived. Roberts apparently held the belief that, as a captive, Doctor Watson was below him. Understandable. The only problem he had with that was the fact Sherlock was glued to Roberts side every time the bastard was on deck.

What game was he playing at? This subservient act wasn’t Sherlock in the least, nor the laughing at every joke. 

Whenever Sherlock came to him at night there were little words exchanged, only a few at the end when Sherlock purred praise into his ear. As they grew closer to port those nights grew further and further apart, leaving John to start questioning all over again just how stupid he could be. Each time he forced himself to remember he would be returning back to London soon.

The thought terrified him. Sometimes he’d wake up gasping in a cold sweat just dreaming of what he was going back to, only now there was the added paranoia of people finding out he’d been the lover to a male pirate. And he had loved every time they’d lain together.

Everything Sherlock had shown him had felt right. Rolling over on the cot he’d drift off pretending to be back on the island with the infamous Captain Holmes nestled against his chest, warm breath tickling at his throat.

Days passed since Sherlocks last visit, but John was too focused on keeping up with the work on deck. Mainly in the form of avoiding the trouble the crew seemed hell-bent on throwing his direction. When someone finally called out they were close to port John paused long enough to look at the far distant blur.

It took everything in him not to look for Sherlock to see his reaction. Would he be happy to be back? If he was would he even show it? Considering the show he’d been putting on for Roberts he just might.

“Sherlock! You know protocol. Watson is supposed to be taken back to his cell the moment we land.” Roberts voice was firm, unrelenting. Not to mention loud enough to draw all attention to the Captain following Sherlock, who was walking towards John.

With a dramatic roll of the eyes Sherlock barely spared a glance over his shoulder at Roberts. “Unless you wish to explain to my brother why I did not come to him with valuable information then, please, be my guest. Otherwise do kindly shut up, and remember that you were on an errand of Mycrofts the month of your childs conception .” 

As Roberts went red faced with either embarrassment or rage Sherlock seemed to forget about him completely. Whatever reason Sherlock had been playing the passive shipmate was expired by the looks of it, and John fought back the chuckle. It wasn’t right to laugh at something like this, it only encouraged him.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

The old woman oozed motherly affection but Greg didn’t take that to mean she was weak. Sitting there somewhat awkwardly he tried to keep up with her current train of thought.

“More tea, dear?”

“Ah, no thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” Greg said with a lopsided grin.

“I guess you are in a hurry to get back to Mycroft. How’s his wrist doing? Molly said it was healing fine last she saw him.” Mrs. Hudson talked as she moved around the small kitchen, placing a fresh cake into a box for easy carrying. Her smile was warm and knowing as she sat the box in front of him, patting the white box top almost lovingly. One look at the kindly old woman and one wouldn’t think she’d been the madam of a brothel, let alone a brothel on the island belonging to pirates but from what Greg had gathered her husband had been a pirate.

A temper prone man with a taste for gambling and drinking. The brothel, then nothing more than a pub from what Greg understood, had been failing under his care. The story of how exactly Mrs. Hudson first came into contact with the brothers was somewhat a mystery but after her abusive husbands ‘accident’ the old woman had been allowed to keep everything, despite rumors of a hefty debt in Mr. Hudsons name.

She acted more like a protective mother in Gregs eyes than anything. 

“He seems fine. No real complaints.” He said, suddenly very aware how this might look.

Whenever Mycroft drank some of that tea for the pain a good portion of the conversation was about Mrs. Hudsons cakes, but he would never get one because Sherlock would just tease him. They never spoke of that after Mycroft came back to himself but Greg paid attention.

It had seemed like a good idea. Some sort of peace offering but now Greg was more than a little aware about how this looked. Him getting cake for Mycroft.

Standing from the kitchen table he took the box with a polite smile, bowing his head. “Thanks again.”

“Oh, no reason to thank me! Anything to make my boys happy.” Her little wink had him torn between laughing and blushing. After another little farewell he was off, heading back to what he would honestly consider a mansion.

Hearing the clatter of a horse drawn carriage behind him Greg stepped to the side, tensing when it slowed down the closer it came to him. “Greg?”

“Molly? Is Anderson on his way to see Mycroft?” He asked, walking alongside the carriage. Not a fancy looking thing but it suited a man of Doctor Andersons means quite well. Hopefully the ancient man driving wouldn’t just fall over dead.

“It’s just me. The midwife requested his help. Need a lift?”

This wouldn’t make Mycroft happy to hear if he found out, which he most likely would. Everything he did outside that bloody house was reported back, sometimes even before he had finished whatever it was! Feeling the ache in his feet Greg gave a nod, lifting himself up inside.

The banter was easy as always, and she was polite enough not to ask about the box he tried to keep hidden by his other side. Though a few times he caught her looking. Maybe it was his imagination but he thought her eyes sparkled a few times, smiling a bit wider than before.

Holding the box tightly he helped her down with one hand once they arrived, letting her walk ahead. Instead of finding Mycroft in his room he was walking down the staircase as the door opened.

Greg shifted the cake behind him, frowning.

“Mr. Holmes, what are you doing? Doctor Anderson said you needed to be on bed rest for at least another week.” Molly said.

Shifting a cool look between them Mycroft straightened out his jacket, repressing any physical sign of pain as he moved his wrist around.

“Mycroft!” Greg snapped.

“Roberts is back.”

 

The pain in his wrist was spreading slowly through his arm but it wasn’t as serious as it had been even a week ago. The fact was Captain Roberts was back, and that meant he’d find out if Sherlock was alive.

Adjusting his jacket again Mycroft tapped the familiar cane against the floor, looking right at Gregory. “You will come with me. If John has returned as well I do not want you to think I went against my word. Miss. Hooper, if you would please carry on with your usual duties.” He said with a polite smile, ignoring the glance she gave Gregory before nodding and rushing off.

“Mycroft, are you sure about this?” Gregory asked him softly when he was close enough. The questioning of his strength didn’t sit well with Mycroft, who found his grip subconsciously tightening around the silver head of his cane. This certainly wouldn’t do. 

“Come alone, Gregory, or you may wait in your room. Whichever you prefer.” He replied, heading out to his own waiting carriage with Gregory trailing right behind him. The white box took him a second but realizing what it was he flushed, recalling many of his under the influence moments. Had he brought that in an attempt to mock him?

Now wasn’t the time. Nor was it the time to think about Gregory walking in with Miss. Hooper.

Instead of going straight for the dock Mycroft had the carriage take them to his office. Sherlock would be brought to him by Athena and John as well. There was much to discuss. Such as Sherlock ‘stealing’ one of the captives.

Behind the desk he felt more in control, collected. This surge of emotion in his breast was uncomfortable but it was easily pressed down. The cause, as always, was his younger brother. Not that anyone knew that, even Sherlock didn’t believe it.

“Do sit down, Gregory!” Mycroft snapped finally, internally wincing at the lack of control.

 

Greg tensed, glaring over at Mycroft to ask why they weren’t at the docks. There was a slim chance his best mate was alive and he was ready to explode. Why wasn’t Mycroft more anxious over the fact his brother might be alive?

Sitting down in the corner he fiddled with the box, sighing. This hadn’t been what he’d expected of the day but it was better, truly. John could be alive! His best mate. The man he owed his very life to. Getting up he set the cake in front of Mycroft, shrugging. “Be a shame to waste it.”

With that he went to sit back down, just waiting.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

Roberts might have thought the stone wall, cold shoulder, treatment would have a reaction from him but Sherlock felt more than pleased by the cold silence. It was something he was well used to and there were more important things to focus on.

As the ship was properly docked Sherlock gave a small glance, nodding when his eyes landed on Athena. His brothers personal henchwoman. Quiet, smart, deadly.

No sign of his brother, then. Not unexpected. He would be taken to Mycroft for a de-briefing about what had occurred but the idea of telling his brother about Moriarty had lost all appeal. If, and that was a rather decent sized ‘if’, Moriarty was trying to play games why bring Mycroft into it?

Grabbing the doctors arm he tugged John close enough to whisper something in his ear. “You will be taken back to your cell but I’ll require your assistance after I speak with Mycroft. Do not speak a word of what happened before we cast off to return.” He whispered, pulling back to make sure John had caught everything.

His expression hadn’t changed, not giving anything away about what he might have said. Perfect.

Walking up to Athena he gave the smallest of nods, gears turning quickly when she gestured for them to follow.

“I want this man taken back to his cell.” Sherlock said firmly.

“Mr. Holmes wishes to speak with you both. This way.”

 

John followed along with Sherlock. He hadn’t been sure of Sherlocks plan to start with but this was not part of it.

He remembered the way from the last time he’d been here but it felt stranger to be here now. Honestly it just felt strange to be anywhere but the island. There were people everywhere it felt like, the noise hurting his ears and making him wish to be alone. Even if it was back in that cell for a while.

Like before Mycroft was sitting behind his desk, looking every inch the man of legend. The only thing John cared about was Greg who was now coming towards him.

“Gre-“ before John knew it he was wrapped in the tight embrace of one of his dearest friends. It didn’t occur to him to question why Greg was still here. Wrapping his arms tightly around the other he held on tightly before they broke apart, clapping each other on the shoulder warmly. “Is Lady Sawyer still here?”

“If you would kindly calm yourself, Doctor Watson. It shall all be explained.” Mycrofts soft purr of a voice gave more command than most Captains John had ever met.  
Sherlock kept standing, his back going straighter as if to say he wouldn’t even consider sitting.

Mycroft gave his younger brother a smirk before looking at John. “Captain Lestrade agreed to remain here in exchange for you being returned with, or without, ransom.” He explained, a muscle in his jaw involuntarily twitching. Much to Johns surprise Greg was looking at the man in concern before looking away, face carefully blank.

Beside him Sherlock scoffed before laughing.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft warned softly, gaze growing colder before flickering to Johns face for a heartbeat. The warning was clear but John wasn’t exactly positive as to what the warning was in regards of.

 

Returning the glare Sherlock fought back the biting comments. The cake box in plain view on the desk, the obvious wrist injury, the left over glazed look in his eyes that suggested drug usage and that wasn’t even touching on the painfully obvious affair going on between his brother and Lestrade.

“Old age making you slow, brother?” Sherlock said low, glancing over at Lestrade for a heartbeat but it was enough to get Mycrofts attention.

“Is this a game you want to start, Sherlock?”

The question sent a chill down his spine but he refused to let it show. Could Mycroft already know about Moriarty? There was no possible way. He would have already said something. Still, this couldn’t be put off. He needed to leave without arousing suspicion. Admittedly not an easy take with Mycroft.

Forcing a weary expression in place he sighed, shoulders sagging in a somewhat dramatic fashion. “Please, Mycroft, I am rather worn out. If we could continue this at a later time.” Sherlock pleaded softly, looking embarrassed.

For half a second he honestly thought it would work. That is, until Mycroft barked out a laugh.

“Oh fine.” Sherlock growled, sprawling out on the couch in the corner. Not comfortable but it was a better perch than those chairs right in front of Mycrofts desk. It was barely noticeable but they were slightly smaller than Mycrofts chair , giving the ones sitting across from his brother the image that Mycroft was bigger than he appeared. Intimidation. “What do you want to know?”

By all accounts ignoring his brother now Mycroft looked right to the still standing John. “Doctor Watson, would you care to share what happened?”

“A storm caught us by surprise.”

Sherlock held his breath. It was the truth but was it enough for Mycroft to leave it alone? It was with nothing short of a miracle that Mycroft let out a sigh, the arm of his healing wrist trembling before he dismissed them by summoning the guards from outside.

“Doctor Watson will be taken back to his cell with Captain Lestrade.” Mycroft ordered.

Both captives went out without so much as a glare but Sherlock noticed the sharp twist of a frown on Lestrades face before he was out of sight. “I think you hurt his feelings.” He mocked.

“I gave you what you wanted, Sherlock. Now leave.” He sighed, dabbing at sweat on his forehead.

With a huff Sherlock got up to leave. This was perfect actually.

“Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft. Maybe you should re-learn what you taught me.” Sherlock couldn’t help but toss out before shutting the door behind him.

 

Even back in the cells they’d been in when first brought here. Bloody poetic. Really.

“So, Greg, care to tell me what exactly is going on?” John asked once they were alone. The idea of sitting on that hard cot sounded less appealing than pacing around the cell a bit, which is what John started doing.

Was Sherlock still going to come get him? Raking fingers through his hair John tried to cut that thought off for the time being. Still, what the hell did Sherlock need his help with?

“I stayed behind as part of a deal. Lady Sawyer and the others were taken back weeks ago.” Greg sighed, sprawling out on the cot and wiggling around to get comfortable before folding arms behind his head. “I wasn’t about to leave you behind, and don’t say nothing about it because if it was switched you would have done the same damn thing.”

Couldn’t argue with that. Coming to a halt beside the bars linking him to Gregs cell John looked at his friend, now noticing what exactly the other was wearing. Brand new from the looks of it. He wanted to ask, and he could tell that Greg knew he wanted to ask something but nothing came out. He wasn’t disgusted, more confused really. Had Greg really put himself in this position just for him?

Instead he just licked at his lips, suddenly aching for a strong pint of anything. “So, we’ll both be heading home soon.” He murmured. “Captain Greg Lestrade, survived the Holmes brothers. Never leaves a man behind.” John added with a laugh. Greg gave a small chuckle as well but didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“Bloody hell I’m tired.” Was all he said.

John closed his eyes, unsure if he nodded as he said “I am too.”

 

Hours dragged by in silence but it was somehow comfortable. Both had worried about each other, and even just being in silence together was a heavy weight off the mind. There were things that just couldn’t be said, and both John and Greg found themselves thinking things they were barely able to put into thought.

The thing to break up their chains of thought was Athena strolling in like she had done in the past.

“Captain Lestrade.” She said calmly, gesturing for him to follow.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

What game was Mycroft playing at? It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. To tell her to carry the message to Mycroft that he was done being a kept whore but the words wouldn’t come out. A part of him didn’t want it to actually be over yet.

“Try not to go missing while I’m gone.” Mycroft joked to John with a smirk before following Athena outside, pulling the silver-gray cape tighter around his shoulders. It had felt amazing to see John again. To see him not only in one piece but looking better than he had in months. No more limping or a slight tremor of the hand. That would be helpful when they got back to London.

Maybe Mycroft was going to tell him they were being sent back soon as possible? That would sever any ties they had, what little there were.

As soon as Athena led him through the door Greg almost went for his room. It was just a habit that ingrained itself heavily but this wasn’t his anything now. Not that it had ever been.

“Where’s Mycroft?”

“He took an early night. He won’t be joining you for dinner tonight .” Athena answered calmly.

Oh sod that! Rushing past her Greg gave a joking salute over his shoulder. “I’ll just go see if he needs anything, aye?”

This had to be the first time he’d ever seen Athena look panicked. Before she could regain any sort of composure he was off, keeping up a brisk pace to Mycrofts room and knocking sharply.

“Do go away, Gregory. I am in no mood for this.”

Greg gave a small snort, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. Turning the lock before Athena could get there.

 

Setting the tea cup aside Mycroft tried to force away the already dulling edges of his thought process. Gregory already looked a little roughed up from being in the cell for only a few hours but it certainly wasn’t a displeasing look for the man.

“I am in no mood to deal with you tonight, Gregory.” Mycroft tried again, resting back against the mound of pillows. At least the pain was leaving.

“When are you sending us back?”

“Beg pardon?” He sighed, barely even paying attention to the repeated question. “As soon as I’m done with your dear little Doctor Watson. There is something they’re not telling me.”

When had he closed his eyes? Opening them he was somewhat startled to find Gregory leaning over him.

“Please don’t look at me like that. I don’t plan on torturing the doctor but I need answers. Sherlock isn’t surprised by anything, even the weather. I do believe Doctor Watson harbors soft affections for my little brother.” He rambled, reaching up to touch a shining button on the front of Gregorys shirt. The material was so soft. 

When it felt like Gregory was trying to pull away his fingers tightened in the soft fabric, causing the other to stumble off balance. “You always are so much fun to play with.” Mycroft murmured as Gregory grabbed the head board with one hand to keep from falling on top of him. The other hand had fallen right beside his head on the pillows, bringing the silver haired fox just close enough to have his eyes fill Mycrofts entire line of vision.

“Add it to our deal if you must.”

 

Greg was close. Far too close. He just hadn’t calculated Mycroft actually yanking on his shirt like that. It was childish but somewhat endearing. Maybe coming in here had been a mistake.

“You do not threaten to torture him.” Greg said firmly.

“Consider it a deal, Captain Lestrade.”

Leaning in closer he pressed his lips firmly against Mycrofts, running his tongue along the lower one before they trembled and parted for him. The grip at his shirt tightened further as he pulled back, smirking. “I’m not done sealing our deal. Do you honestly think I’m about to leave it?”

The hand loosened but didn’t leave his body, instead taking up the task of undoing the buttons slowly one handed.

Carefully Greg moved to place a knee on either side of Mycrofts thighs, being mindful of the arm propped up on the other side. Pain medicine or not he didn’t want to jar the injured wrist. Taking the others face carefully in hand he leaned in for another kiss, smirking to himself.

“You taste like cake.” Greg murmured.

When Mycroft tried to turn his blushing face away he forced the man to keep looking at him. “I bought the damn thing so you’d eat it. It’s just a bloody cake, Mycroft.”

Mycroft snorted softly, eyes narrowing. Everything was so much more dramatic after he’d drunk that tea. “Oh yes, you would say that. Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Gregory.” He huffed, pupils blowing wide when Gregs eyes drifted down to his lips.

“You stubborn arse.” Greg scolded, cutting off the protest with a burning kiss that left him light headed. Right under that layer of herbal tea taste he could just catch the faint undertone of something sweet. God, just another taste.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

The commotion outside the make-shift jail got Johns attention quickly. He couldn’t quite make out the words but the voices sounded frantic, almost panicked before the doors were pushed open and one of the guards ran towards Johns cell.

“You’re a doctor, aye? Are you?!”

Standing straight John gave a sharp nod, trying to see around the man for any sign of an injured person. There was only the woman he’d helped tend on his first night here, what was her name again? Molly. . Molly Hooper! And right behind her stood the other guard who was looking around carefully.

“I said he was a doctor! Please let me take him. Captain Holmes needs a doctor and Doctor Anderson can’t get back before nightfall.” Molly pleaded, eyes shining with tears.  
Sherlock? “Molly, what happened? Where’s Sherlock?” He asked quickly.

“He burned himself with an experiment.” She replied weakly, worrying at her lower lip until the guard went to unlock the door with shaking hands.

“Turn around.” The guard ordered, only unlocking the door when John turned around with wrists crossed behind his back. 

“Do you think one of us should go with you, miss?” The other guard asked with a warm smile, placing a hand on Mollys arm.

“That won’t be needed but thank you. I need to hurry back to Captain Holmes. Thank you!” Molly said, grabbing the end of the rope that was currently tied around Johns wrists.

John kept up the brisk pace, heart pounding in his chest. What had that bloody fool done now? Hopefully it wasn’t anything too serious. Burn wounds had a tendency to get infected easily. They required constant attention.

 

Sherlock paced around the small living space, not even pausing when Molly burst into the room with a very flustered and flushed John Watson.

“Be sure to cut his wrists free, Molly. He’s completely useless like that.” Sherlock murmured.

“You’re fine then?” John asked in a tight voice, glaring at Sherlock as Molly went to untie his wrists.

“I’m sorry, John. Sherlock insisted.” Molly said with a small smile, stepping back quickly as if worried about being caught in the crosshair of Johns annoyance at the deceit.

Sherlock barely realized what had happened until he felt a wall collide with his back. Strong hands fisted in the thin fabric of his shirt held him against the wall, narrowed eyes pinning him in place before he sighed.

“It was the only way I could get you out. Mycroft gave strict orders that any trace of me around the jail would be reported to him no matter what. This only buys us a few hours at most since he invited Lestrade for. . _dinner_.” Sherlock explained, grabbing the wrists attached to the hands holding him to the wall but he didn’t fight it. Tilting his head slightly Sherlock just hummed to himself. “Do you wish to waste time acting ordinary or help me?”

There was little doubt what John would pick. The man had a taste for dangerous situations. It gave him a rush. Sherlock hated how that affected his baser desires.  
Slowly he was let go, the smaller figure stepping back to give him space.

“Right. What now?”

Sherlock could barely contain the excited spring in his step as he grabbed a black cape from the back of a chair. The state of Johns clothing barely crossing his attention until Molly mentioned it. Growing ever frustrated with the distraction he grabbed an extra cape, tossing it to the smaller man.

“We’ve wasted enough time. Come along.” Sherlock said, practically running with John following close behind him.

Their destination wasn’t very far from his flat. In fact it was just next door in a pub experiencing an overabundance of customers.

Pushing their way to the bar Sherlock leaned over the top to the barmaid, gesturing her closer after flashing a shiny coin.

“Tell your mistress she has guests.” He whispered, sliding the coin across the bar top where it was quickly snatched up.

“Sorry, boys. She’s busy at the moment but I’ll see what I can do later.” She said with a chuckle, about to turn away until another coin was placed on the bar top.

“You were saying?” Sherlock asked, pulling the coin back before the woman could grab it.

 

John flushed at the loud moan that echoed through the hall when they were being led through the back to Irenes room. What business did they have with her? They were shown to a sitting room that John remembered passing last time he’d been here to treat Molly. The noise from the bar was muffled to nearly silence, leaving him feeling a little uncomfortable. It didn’t seem natural.

“If you’ll just wait here I’ll tell Mistress Adler you’re here.” The woman left them alone, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Sherlock found a spot easily, by all appearances relaxed and unbothered. Why wouldn’t he be? The wanker knew why they were here to start with. Still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable John walked around the room, keeping a sharp look out for anything funny. More habit than actually worrying about danger.

In time he wouldn’t have thought possible Irenes voice filled the room, and he went to turn around to greet her. Only to find the woman wearing nothing more than a robe that acted more like a second skin than actually covering her.

John turned his gaze upward, cheeks growing crimson in a flash as Sherlock scoffed nearby. 

“Do you not like it, Sherlock? I had thought on your first night back it would be fun to dress up and celebrate.” Irene teased, walking towards John and running a finger along his upturned jaw. “Poor thing. Reminds me of the first time we met. Do you remember that, Sherlock?”

“Irene, we’re here to speak with you.”

“Oh, this does sound serious.” Irene chuckled, walking over to sit on a cream colored chair that accented her pale skin and dark hair perfectly. “Whatever could this be about? Tea, Doctor Watson?” She called, picking up a little bell from the side table.

Clearing his throat John finally regained his composure, looking towards her but not quite looking at her. “I’m good. Ya.” He said in a rush.

“If you insist. Anything for you, Sherlock?”

“Has James tried to contact you?” Sherlock asked.

James? As in James Moriarty? John looked at him quickly, wondering if this was some sort of joke but the cold eyes weren’t giving anything away.

Irenes bright red smile faded around the edges, hand resting on the armrest as she regarded Sherlock carefully. “Jim is supposed to be dead. I know you’ve been lonely, Sherlock, but what reason makes you believe he isn’t?”

“You’re afraid.” Sherlock said, searching her face. “What happened while I was gone? Have you told Mycroft?”

She was the one to break eye contact first, sighing. “There was a package left for me. No one knew who left it, which isn’t strange in itself. I have quite the collection of ‘secret admirers’ .” Irene started, closing her eyes a second. When they opened John was surprised to find them glossy from unshed tears. “It was a painting of Baskerville Hall.”

 

Sherlock kept his eyes on Irene while answering Johns unasked questions. The scandal surrounding Baskerville Hall had been a talking point for years. A centuries old household brought to ruin by the dumb thought process of a man who could only think with his baser desires.  
Not only that but it had almost cost a price on the royal family.

“Irene worked closely with Moriarty for quite some time before coming here.” Sherlock explained. “The Woman who could bring a king to his knees. I must ask again, Irene, have you told Mycroft?” He leaned forward, placing his hand over her wrist.

A quick brush of his thumb over her pulse showed her pulse was elevated but not enough to suggest she was lying. Disguise anything as comfort and most people believed it.

“Not yet, but why? Oh, of course, you were planning on leaving the island. Going to try and outrun James?”

Irene slapped the hand on her wrist away, standing. All trace of emotion was gone, leaving behind the cocky smile and graceful elegance. “You might not remember what Jim is capable of but there are things even I must draw the line at.” She reached down to cup his cheek, thumb nail dangerously close to his eye. “I would warn you off but that would just excite you further, wouldn’t it? You boys and your games will be the death of me.”

With that she was gone, and Sherlock was half expecting her to be gone by morning.

“Sherlock.”

“Now, John, there’s someone else we must speak with. Come along.”

“Sherlock!”

Angry. John was angry with him but why? He was half-way to the door when the sharp voice caused him to stop.

“What haven’t you told me, Sherlock?”

“You said I didn’t have to speak of it if I didn’t wish to.” Sherlock said but it was a flimsy excuse, even he knew that. He could almost feel Johns glare burning a hole through the back of his head.

“Tell me the truth or were you hoping I’d be too stupid to notice? Do you honestly find me so bloody stupid?” Johns voice grew louder and angrier with each word. “Or do you think I’m a coward? Stupid or cowardly. Which is it?”

“You’re acting like a child, John!” Sherlock turned to face him, mentally wincing at the closed off expression. “We don’t have time for this!”

Sherlock winced as he was slammed into the door, heart pounding as John leaned in closer to where their lips were almost touching. “You’d bloody well better make time for this, Sherlock Holmes. You tell me the truth about Moriarty. You owe me that much.”

John wouldn’t leave him to continue this game alone. He couldn’t.

Grabbing Johns wrists for the second time that evening he sighed, looking into eyes that only a few weeks ago had been warm and playful. “Let me go and I’ll tell you everything you should know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get through reading all that? Fantastic! You are absolutely fantastic. :3
> 
> Comments comments comments. I thrive off your comments. They help make sure I'm still doing things ya'll are loving. So, if you have time a comment would be great. If you have the time and all.
> 
> Kudos are also nice but if you feel the fic doesn't deserve kudos yet that's okay. :3


	11. Other side of the Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderful audreyneedsacase. Thank you so much for dealing with my sillyness.
> 
> And a big thank you to my readers. Feels a little full of myself saying something like that but I am so glad ya'll are reading this.
> 
> Also, quick note, native names aren't meant to give the location away. If that makes sense. They're Nahuatl/Aztec names.

The fact they were still in Irene's whorehouse didn’t seem to bother John in the least. Clearly he was focused on finding out what he wanted to know, and location be damned. Sherlock took the chance to sit, mind working nonstop to figure out what should really be told and what would be better if John didn’t know. 

He could hear John pacing around the room, the little huffs of annoyed breathing digging the guilt in a little deeper. What reason did he have to feel guilty? None of this was even Johns concern. Why did he even care so much? “What exactly do you want to know that you can’t figure out for yourself, John?”

“Oh no.” John said, suddenly in his personal space with hands on either side of his head on the couch back. “You will not talk to me like that at this moment.” That little pink tongue darted out nervously. No. In anger.

“Moriarty worked for my brother. He was released from it and left. Irene worked for him; she worried for her life and came to us. That is the simple version.”

“I don’t want the bloody simple version, Sherlock. Why did he try to have you killed? Why send Irene that painting?”

“The painting was nothing more than a warning. I guess he hoped Irene would tell Mycroft or even me. Us being stranded on an island was far from his calculations.”

“Irene said Moriarty was supposed to be dead.”

“Your point?”

John tensed, glaring at the sitting man from his now elevated height. “Why isn’t he?”

“The hired gun Mycroft sent out failed. Simple as that.” Sherlock said, pushing John away so he could stand and pace. “Moriarty didn’t mean my death. That murder on my ship was just another warning, another game.”

“People have died because of this. That isn’t a game!” 

_”That’s what people do!”_

Sherlock winced at the echoing scream in his head, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. For Jim everyone had been a potential pawn. No one even existed until Jim found a use for them. The puckered flesh at his lower back seemed to burn, twitching as he gave himself a mental shake.

Cold fingers traced over his back under the shirt, a cheery whistling filling his ears.

“Irene worked with- for actually- Moriarty. His plan brought down an old family, and nearly cost the royal family an heir or two. That was just fun and games. Mycroft sent one of our assassins to take care of a problem before it became too much of a bother.”

The chilled touch ran higher, sending gooseflesh bumps along his body.

“I can honestly say I don’t know why Moriarty is up to these old tricks. Does that satisfy your curiosity, John?”

He needed to get out of this room. He also craved a smoke, images of the little slipper flashing across Sherlocks mind. 

 

By the end of Sherlocks ramblings he felt tired, mentally drained. Taking a few deep breaths his mind cleared, all of the trouble pushed back to be dealt with later.

John thrived under such conditions. Now there was a bit more to work with. More to help him understand.

Perfect.

Giving a sharp nod he finally spoke. “Right then. What now? You said there was someone else we needed to speak with.”

Sherlock glanced at him carefully, searching his face. At finding whatever he wanted the man gave a smirk, rushing for the door. “Paul Dimmock. Another one of Moriartys left over pawns that came here seeking refuge. Keeps to himself these days. Might be dangerous.”

Even with lingering emotions about being lied to John couldn’t help but return the somewhat playful banter with a chuckle. Sherlock Holmes was a dangerous man himself; what was a little more danger?

It was almost pitch black as they left the pub, making it easier for Sherlock to sneak through the shadows towards a horse tied up outside. Faster than John would have thought possible Sherlock was mounting the giant beast, offering his hand down to him.

“Won’t someone report this horse missing?” John asked, hands going to Sherlocks waist for a moment before he pulled them back quickly.

“This is one of Mycrofts personal stallions. Whoever ‘borrowed’ this animal won’t be stupid enough to report it without the risk of giving himself away.”

John laughed softly, grabbing again at Sherlocks waist to steady himself as the large stallion was put into motion. It felt strange being so close to Sherlock but why should it? Quite clearly John could remember the times he’d been buried inside Sherlock as they both screamed to the sky. Why should touching him like this feel so strange?

_Because there is no more excuse for it. You’re no longer stuck on an island with nothing better to offer. But how you want him. Oh how you want him._ The thought came unbidden, making his grip tighten and his eyes close as he tried to fight off the reaction that thought gave him.

This wasn’t really the time or place to have thoughts like this or notice the faint scent of tobacco drifting from Sherlocks curls.

 

Sherlock gave the horse a gentle nudge in the side, making him dart forward and forcing Johns body forward as well. Which had the doctor pressed even tighter against his back. Firm hands went to rest on his stomach, hips against his arse wiggling slightly.

The odds of John still desiring him were rather slim but not impossible. It had been made very clear that John found him attractive. This would just have to wait. As much as his baser instincts told him to claim John there were far more important things that begged his attention.

Forcing his mind back to their present matters Sherlock tried to remember everything about Dimmock. A follower by nature and breeding. James had been the perfect man to follow for someone that craved orders being thrown at them. Mycroft had had no real use for the man after Moriarty had ‘died’. Kept to himself towards the edge of the jungle.

Something settled in the pit of his stomach, causing him to nudge the horse into a faster pace. Without being told John tightened his grip, nodding against his back to give consent to go faster.

The few miles to Dimmocks home felt longer than possible, and once there Sherlock only felt his blood grow cold. Something didn’t feel right. Dropping to the ground Sherlock didn’t bother knock as he went to try the lock, only to find the door cracked already.

Shoving the door open he stepped back, holding a hand up to his nose as John cursed behind him. Clearing the stench of death from his nostrils Sherlock went to enter before a hand grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards.

“John, I highly doubt whatever is in there will cause us much harm.” Sherlock scoffed, pushing the hand away. They both knew what was in there. It was a scent that never quite left a person’s memory.

“You can’t just go in there. You don’t know what’s in there besides what I’m assuming is what is left of Dimmock.”

“Oh do calm down. It could have nothing to do with Moriarty.”

“If you honestly believed that you wouldn’t look so bloody excited. Do not go in there.” Johns voice was a commanding growl, presenting Sherlock with a challenge.

Shoving the hand away from his arm Sherlock dashed inside, hand over both nose and mouth but it couldn’t quite prevent that stench from leaking through. Taking a few steps into the house he caught the faint glow further towards the back area. Following it he smirked at the sound of John behind him.

It wasn’t a very big house, and the boards creaked eerily beneath their feet. The faint glow grew brighter until Sherlock felt his outstretched hand come into contact with another semi-cracked open door.

Sherlock wanted to believe the first thing he noticed was a freshly made fire, which suggested someone had been in this home tonight. Or even the broken furniture, scattered papers or just the general disarray of the room itself but none of that settled in quite as much as the long dead body spread out in front of the fire.

The hand blocking out the smell now clasped tighter to his mouth as bile rose in his throat, the acidic burn making him gag.

Dimmock had been murdered shortly before or after Irene was sent that painting. The fresh burning fire said the killer wanted this body to be seen, and that Dimmock was expected to be looked for. Kneeling beside the body Sherlock ignored the maggots wiggling around in a bloated, expressionless face . There was something tucked in a clenched hand by his head.

Both hands were needed to pry open the stiff grip, pulling out the wrinkled paper.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Wonderful to hear you survived that nasty storm. And that dim witted fool who couldn’t lead a horse to water but there was little doubt in my mind you would. Do hope it wasn’t too dull for you._

_Have you missed me? I feel somewhat disappointed. You’ve grown so dull. Boring. Ordinary. My poor Sherlock. Has me being away set you back so much?  
Hopefully my distractions will be enough to keep you happy._

_Forever yours,_

_J. Moriarty_

_P.s- I forgive you for the death attempt. Adorable. Really._

Those cold fingers were on his body again, trailing upward as he read and re-read the note.

“Do you know what this means, John?!” Sherlock proclaimed, jumping up and spinning around to share this exciting news. Moriarty had to be on the island.

He was here! Here!

 

John stood towards the door, hands at his sides and nostrils flaring. Pulling the cape off he stepped around Sherlock to drape it over Dimmocks rotting form. Death was never a thing he got used to but this was just worse somehow. To die for a. . a game! That’s what Moriarty appeared to see it as, and even Sherlock.

“Is there anyone else on this island he might go after?” John asked; fuse growing even shorter at Sherlocks clipped answer of there not being anyone else they ‘needed to speak with’. “That is not what I asked, Sherlock! Is there anyone else on this bloody island that might die because of your childish, stupid games?” 

“Anyone could die if it crossed Moriartys mind. I cannot predict who it could be. Not yet anyway.” Sherlock said before turning and leaving the room in a rush, forcing John to run or risk being left behind.

Bloody hell he was tired. Back on the horse he kept his hands on a sensible location, too confused and drained to have the same thoughts as before. John barely even noticed as they ended up back outside Sherlocks home, or when he followed the man upstairs.

They were barely in the flat more than a few minutes when Sherlock took up pacing, letter still clutched in hand. John sat in a chair away from the door but facing the window, his eyes heavy and body quickly growing too weak to much.

“I’ve disappointed you.”

“Hm?” He forced his eyes open to look up at Sherlock who stood in front of the chair. “It’s not my place to be disappointed in anyone.”

“But you’re disappointed in me.” Sherlock said, tilting his head as John sighed.

In a flash of motion too much to catch for his tired senses John felt lips cover his own, large hands tilting his face upward as he reached out to grab at Sherlocks arms. Right away John felt his body react, legs parting to ease the snug feeling between his trouser clad thighs. “Sherlock. .”

Cupid bow lips teased at his earlobe, a deep chuckle vibrating through his body. “Shh, John, you miss my body, don’t you?” Sherlock moaned softly as his tongue ran along the shell of Johns ear. Finger-tips drifted down across his chest unnoticed until they made contact between his thighs.

John melted back into the chair, torn between lust and the bone aching need to sleep. Sherlock falling to his knees in front of him made the choice a bit easier, and made him glad he’d been allowed to bathe when back in the cell. The thought was so absurdly out of place he laughed, covering his mouth when the giggles kept coming.

“S-sorry.” John tried to excuse when Sherlock looked up at him questioningly. The last laugh was cut off by a loud moan, which was caused by a warm mouth suddenly pressed against the bulge in his trousers. Through the fabric Sherlock teased the hard flesh, eyes rolled upward to watch Johns reaction.

What was this crazy bastard trying to do to him? Grabbing the chair arms tightly John struggled to keep quiet, unsure of the chances of anyone else being close by. “Sherlock.” He moaned softly, tearing one hand away from its perch to stroke the soft curls before taking a spot on the back of his head.

As if able to read his mind Sherlock pulled back only long enough to undo enough ties to get to what he really wanted. John leaned his head back against the chair, eyes drifting closed but he was far too aware to fall asleep now. Perfect warmth surrounded his cock, a tongue swirling around the head before Sherlock took him even further in. Bastard didn’t even have a gag reflex from what John could tell. 

The events from the last few hours melted into nothing, leaving John only capable of focusing on the man between his thighs. “Sherlock, close. So bloody close.” John warned weakly, breathing heavily as his hips arched. Sherlocks moan of what could only be approval sent him over the edge as it vibrated through his cock.

His hand fell away from the mess of now tangled curls, a grin gluing itself to his face as he looked down at Sherlock to find him licking his lips. There was something he wanted to say but as the afterglow of his release waned John could barely find it possible to keep his eyes open.

 

Sherlock ran his sleeve across his mouth again, still able to fully taste where he’d swallowed Johns seed. It wasn’t a surprise when John practically fell asleep afterwards. In fact it was expected. 

Getting up quietly he adjusted the doctor back into his trousers, tossing one of the throws Mrs. Hudson insisted on keeping around the place on top of his sleeping form. Not ideal but far better than a cot in that pathetic cell. If he didn’t have John back by morning Mycroft would surely know he’d been borrowed again but maybe he’d been too busy with that new toy of his.

It was on the tip of his brain to make fun of his brother for it but could he really? No. He had already wasted enough time on this. Ever since John had covered that simpleton Dimmock he’d been. . angry. Angry with him for not being upset about Dimmocks death. At least not upset in the ‘right’ way.

John had actually been disappointed with him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had grown disappointed in him.

The only problem with that was he was actually bothered by John being disappointed in him.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Roberts blathered on in front of him, engrossed so deeply in his own embellished story that it was easy to pretend to be listening. Mycroft easily took in everything the man said but he let Captain Roberts talk, even when the mans voice felt like someone shoving a rod straight through his ears.

“Is that everything, Roberts?” Mycroft asked once the man finally took a moment to collect himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“You are dismissed. Thank you, Captain.” He waited until Roberts had left before shaking his head, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. One little detail stood out. According to Roberts, after they had reached port where Sherlock had done the trade it was brought to his attention that one of the crewmen had been murdered.

An occurrence that normally Mycroft wouldn’t bat an eye at but the fact Sherlock had left port so soon after it was rumored to have happened. Even before anyone could say they had brought it to his attention.

Was his dear baby brother actually hiding something?

The answer was so obvious Mycroft wanted to slap himself for having not noticed it sooner. Was he really getting so old? So soft?

“Athena, if you don’t mind please fetch Doctor Watson for me.” He called out, knowing the woman was around listening out for orders.

As agreed he wouldn’t harm John but the chances of needing to do that were small anyway. John Watson appeared to be a noble man but Mycroft had found everyone had their price. Whether it was finical gain or another person.

The good doctor looked rather disheveled when led into the room. It could have been from the hard cot Mycroft knew to be in the cells or from a result that had left the ties of his trousers re-tied in a particular fashion.

As expected John watched him carefully as he sat in front of the desk, seemingly relaxed but eyes sharp and alert.

“I am rather surprised you were in your cell, doctor.” Mycroft started off with a polite smile. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“Where else would I have been? You had me locked in there after all.” John replied, shaking his head at the offer of drinks. Mycroft took note of the subconscious way the other licked his lips.

No reason to beat around the bush, as some would say.

“Oh, by the way, how is Sherlock doing?” Mycroft watched the other man stiffen, fingers curling against his thighs. “I merely inquire as it appears you were Sherlocks doctor the other night. I do hope he’s recovering well.”

“What exactly do you want to know? I doubt you brought me here to play good host and concerned brother.” 

The smile didn’t fade an inch. “Actually, there is something I’d like to discuss with you. I am fully aware Sherlock will keep trying coming up with _interesting_ ways to get you out of that prison cell.” He watched the firm resolution on Johns face grow colder. “Now, we both know your prospects once you return to London are, shall we say, bleak. Wouldn’t you agree, John?”

Johns answer was to flush lightly, giving a tight nod.

“My opportunity would provide you with adequate means of establishing yourself once you return. By all means withhold whatever Sherlock has sworn you to secrecy to hide but from here forth you would report everything my brother say, does, everything to me.” Mycroft watched John calmly, or so he acted. Truth be told he was positively burning on the inside to see how John would take this offer.

Agreement or not Mycroft would not let it pass if John were to willingly turn Sherlocks trust over like this.

“I must refuse.”

“If you are worried about Gregory finding out I can assure you it would not become known to anyone but us.”

John flushed darkly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I see those loyalties from the last time you lied for my brothers sake haven’t waned.” Mycroft added.

The door slammed against the wall as it was thrown open, revealing a well groomed Sherlock but Mycroft could see the faint bags under his eyes. The faintest hints of fatigue.

“Late night, Sherlock? I do hope that injury of yours is doing better.” Mycroft tossed out in place of a greeting. John looked back at Sherlock, concern showing clear as day before his face closed down. Interesting.

Giving a quick order for John to be taken back to his cell Mycroft gestured to the chair, unsurprised when Sherlock merely paced around the room.

 

Greg looked up when John was brought back, giving a lopsided grin when Johns eyes met his. “Holmes say when we’re getting sent home?”

It felt weird calling Mycroft just ‘Holmes’ but acting too familiar didn’t seem like the better option. No matter what John might suspect.

“Not yet.” John said with a sigh, lying back on the cot with a low groan. “You ever think we’d end up in a place like this? I thought my biggest adventure was the day I stepped on that damn ship.” He chuckled weakly.

Greg propped back against the wall, arms crossed behind his head. He spared another glance towards his best mate, laughing warmly. “I remember that day.”

They spent the next few minutes re-living their first memories of each other. From Johns first fight in a pub because the man had thought the ‘small chap’ would be easy to get a few coins from, to the time Greg had gotten drunk and tried to propose marriage to a pretty redhead that had made eyes at John that entire night.

As John went into another story Greg felt his eyes water from the force of his own laughter. It took a few minutes to get his breath back to normal but it felt great.

“You’ll have someplace to go. Back in London I mean.” Greg said quickly. The offer had always been in the back of his mind but it felt a little strange to actually say. “I owe you my life, John.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You would have done the same for me.” John didn’t even make it a question. “And I’ll be fine once we get back to London.”

Greg wanted to believe that. For the both of them.

“Just keep thinking about it, you stubborn arse. Took a lot of guts to bare my soul like that, twat.” Greg joked, joining in on Johns laughter.

They’d be okay. It was all about making it through the next however long they were stuck here. Greg laughed harder, pushing back the thought currently causing a deep crushing ache in his chest.

He’d be fine. 

 

The brothers sat in silence. Sherlock now spread out over the lounge couch, silent. Mycroft internally fuming about what Sherlock had been hiding from him. The rhythmic throbbing of his wrist with every beat of his heart hardly helped matters. Sherlock no doubt wanted him to show the anger, lash out. Sherlock always did love a good verbal fight between them.

Forcing back the frothing words Mycroft leaned back in his chair, watching his brother stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t really watching that blasted ceiling though.

“I need honesty about this, Sherlock. Has James Moriarty contacted you since what was supposed to be his death?”

“Not unless you count these events.” Sherlock said calmly, barely batting an eyelash.

Oh how he wanted to believe his little brother.

“Moriarty is not a playmate, Sherlock. I had thought you learned your lesson.” Mycroft didn’t react as his brother got to his feet, storming towards the door. “If Moriarty has given hint of being here you know what that could mean for you. For John.”

A part of him truly wished Sherlock hadn’t paused, hadn’t given that fatal giveaway. 

As the door slammed behind his brother Mycroft sat back, eyes drifting closed for a moment. The pain in his wrist was spreading but it was the last thing on his mind.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

Moriarty was here. There was far too much evidence to suggest otherwise. There was even evidence to suggest Moriarty was watching him or at least had spies watching him. Sherlock ignored Athena on his way out, heading out into the bright sun with a hefty level of contempt for the bright orb.

By all accounts it was a perfectly lovely day, and he hated it.

Ever since taking John back to his cell there had been no small amount of annoyance at everything. John was still somewhat upset with him, and Sherlock was torn between forcing himself not to care and actually being bothered by John being annoyed.

Could James be watching him right now? Sherlock paused mid-step, looking around carefully. The people around him were mostly ignored. It was their movements and behaviors he noticed first and foremost. The people themselves didn’t matter.

Nothing seemed out of place. He could easily point out who was having an affair, which was headed to Irenes for a wasteful afternoon. The most interesting thing was a dark skinned individual carrying a pack of supplies on his back.

The natives kept to themselves, rarely coming to this side of the island. It was a tense peace but Mycrofts word alone kept his lot on this side of the island away from the natives, though a few unplanned pregnancies were known to occur.

Sherlock watched the man follow the path out of the port town. Obvious! That’s where they needed to go now. It was a stretch but it was the next logical step.

Now to get John.

 

John had to wonder how the guards kept falling for Molly’s trick of coming to fetch him for Sherlock again. Something about that just didn’t feel right. There was even less protest than the other night.

Shooting Greg a questioning look he hesitated as Molly told him to hurry. His wrists weren’t even tied together this time.

Once they were outside John stole a quick glance around, making it appear as if he were just adjusting to the change in light. In reality he was looking for any trace of someone following them. What game was Mycroft playing at now?

The bastard had already tried to bribe him into spying on Sherlock. There was no telling what else Mycroft might plan to find out what he wanted.

Mollys hand at his arm urged him into a faster pace. “Sorry, John. I’m not supposed to be gone from Doctor Andersons long.”

“Then why do Sherlocks dirty work?” John asked, kicking himself the second Molly blushed and gave a nervous giggle.

“It’s just a quick favor.” She said quickly, a little too quickly.

As expected Sherlock was completely fine. He sat staring at the wall, fingers folded under his chin and Olivia lying at his feet sleeping. At the disturbance one of her ears perked before her head lifted, tail wagging at the sight of John.

“That’s a good girl.” John said, kneeling down as she came over. “Sherlock being good to you? Better be.” He chuckled, rubbing the soft ears.

“If you’re quite done. Molly, did you bring what I asked for?” Sherlock was up and taking a small satchel from Mollys hands before she could answer.

“I tried to get everything on the list but Anderson was bound to notice if too much was missing.” Molly said as he dug through the small bag.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the name ‘Anderson’, latching the bag closed and tossing it to John. “Anderson is barely capable of observing the nose on his face.”

Ignoring whatever else Sherlock felt the need to compare Doctor Anderson to John took the moment to look into the bag, frowning at the medical supplies. “What’s this for? Another one of the women at Irenes need help?”

No. That didn’t make sense. Why would Molly have brought him here? And why would she need to sneak out medical supplies?

“Sherlock?” John stood, looking from the bag to Sherlock who was now loading up a flintlock pistol before tugging it carefully against his side where it could be hidden by the sweep of his cape. After loading up another one he turned to hand it over to John, sighing in frustration when he didn’t move to take it right away.

“Keep it buried in the bottom of the bag.”

John held the pistol up, meeting Sherlocks impatient gaze easily. “What’s this? And don’t be smart with me.”

“We don’t have time for this! I need to go to the other side of the island. You, doctor, will be a perfect peace-maker. My brother has managed to keep the tensions down but they still aren’t thrilled with ‘our kind’ entering their land. You are nonthreatening at first glance. You can offer them aid, and even make them feel at ease. As you do that I can talk to them and see if anyone is hiding something.” Sherlock boasted the plan in great detail, looking pleased with himself at having come up with it.

That was the plan? Dangerous, reckless, borderline stupid really.

Sherlocks little smirk made John realize he was shaking but not with fear. The bag full of medical supplies, and a flintlock, weighed nothing in his hands. John thrived on this adrenaline rush.

Holding the bag firmly under his arm John licked his lips, nodding slightly.

 

Now that that was settled.

Even before stepping outside Sherlock knew what to expect. At least two of his brothers lackeys that were meant to follow him and John. Oh this was going to be fun.

By the time Sherlock was confident enough to say they’d lost the two men following them both he and John were breathing heavy, eyes wild and hair ruffled from the wind as they’d run through back alleyways. Besides him John was leaning against the wall laughing, body shaking slightly as he held the medical bag to his chest.

The sheer mirth in his laugh sucked Sherlock in before he could think about it. Placing a hand against the wall to brace himself Sherlock laughed along with John, glancing over his shoulder. Closer towards the jungle but not quite in the safe area yet.

“You are insane.” John laughed, drawing his attention.

Sherlock found himself distracted by the slight laugh lines by his eyes, made only more obvious by the wide grin showing Johns perfectly straight teeth. Reaching out he cupped Johns cheek, brushing a thumb along his lower lip. “How insane would you call the one following me?” Sherlock murmured.

John appeared undisturbed by how out in the open they were. Hidden in shadows from buildings but anyone looking into the alleyway would see two men embracing. The added excitement seemed to make the spark turn into a flame between them.

“Never claimed to be in my right mind anyway.” John tossed back, leaning his cheek into the soft hand as his pupils grew larger.

Leaning in closer Sherlock moaned when John closed the gap, the smaller man taking control with one hand at the back of his head tugging at his hair. Gasping at the sharp jolt in his scalp Sherlock felt his knees grow weak when he was pushed against the opposite wall, Johns lips never leaving his.

Sherlock came back to himself slowly, almost wishing he hadn’t. John was at his throat, those perfectly straight teeth biting hard enough to tear the smallest of groans from Sherlock as his hips rolled forward.

Pushing aside the sharpest edge of arousal Sherlock pushed the other away, shaking his head. John merely stepped back, cheeks flushed and lips somewhat swollen from their kiss. He didn’t push anything, merely adjusted the bag beneath one arm and let Sherlock move away from the wall.

“It will-“ Sherlock coughed, clearing his throat to work out the raspy tone. “It will take half a day journey on foot.”

“Sure you’ll be able to handle it?” John asked with a half smirk aimed at him. “I won’t carry you, you know.”

“Nor will I carry you.” Sherlock tossed right back. It was sorely tempting to break into Mycrofts stables for one of the horses but it was much harder to hide when riding a giant black stallion. Plus, Mycroft was the only one on the island with that breed of horse. Staying under the notice of anyone would be impossible. So, on foot it was.

 

Sherlock knew they were being watched the further they walked into the jungle. There might be peace but neither side would be caught unawares of anything happening in the jungle, it was just smart to always keep watchful eyes out.

John could sense it too. Sherlock watched the ex-military man shift the bag from arm to arm, scanning the trees and even saw his hand brush by where there must have been a weapon at some point in his career.

“You aren’t using the path.” The man was behind them, a spear resting comfortably in one hand as he watched the two of them. Sherlock grabbed Johns arm quickly, stilling any movement towards what laid in the bottom of the bag.

“I did not want my brother to know I was heading to your village. I need to speak with your chief.” Sherlock said, licking his lips as dark eyes narrowed on them. “I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my companion Doctor John Watson.”

The name ‘Holmes’ caused the man to frown, nose wrinkling as he looked carefully at John. Sherlock could tell the man was wearing only leather breeches, his upper half painted carefully to help him blend. The detail looked incredible. “What business does a Holmes have with us?”

“There is something I wish to discuss with your chief. The matter is of grave importance.”

 

John was rather surprised at how good the mans English was. Even with the trace of an accent he spoke each word clearly and with ease. “We’re sorry to intrude but, as Sherlock said, this is important. In exchange for your help I will help as many in the village as my skills can.” John said firmly.

“You are a Doctor?”

“Yes. Doctor John Watson. You are?”

“Chicahua.” He said, searching Johns face. “Come, if this matter is so important our leader will wish to speak with you at once.”

Something unknotted when the man went to lead them through the jungle, moving slow enough to keep it easy on them. Despite the sweat at his brow and bugs biting at exposed parts of skin John didn’t feel all too worried about this. For all he knew Chicahua was leading them into some sort of trap but why not just kill them? Chicahua had been able to go for a good while under both his and Sherlocks notice.

 

Sherlock was not happy to leave John behind. As soon as they were brought into the village Chicahua had called forth a young woman, speaking too rapidly in their shared language for Sherlock to follow.

“Your friend will tend while you speak with Achcauhtli.” Chicahua had said before looking at John. “This is Patli. She will take you to those that need aid.”

A hand went to Sherlocks arm before he could protest, squeezing to get his attention. Looking down at John he frowned. “It’s fine, Sherlock.”

He didn’t like it but they were here for a reason. John left with Patli and Sherlock followed Chicahua.

Many of the villagers stared openly, while many also seemed to not care about the sight of Sherlock. The village itself was what Sherlock would call primitive. The precious few times he’d been here Sherlock had noticed nothing or hadn’t stored enough of it to remember.

The huts were far more well-built than the ones back on the island he’d been marooned on with John. Few walked around in European styled clothing. Opting for traditional garb made for the work one would need to do to survive on the island.

There was a temple Sherlock couldn’t help but notice. On top of a hill above the village it was built as if looking down on everyone.

Sherlock hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped walking until he came back to his senses to find Chicahua staring at him. “Outsiders are not allowed up there.” He said firmly.

The hostile tone suggested other outsiders had been allowed at one point. Whatever they had done to prevent all others from being allowed was a mystery to be explored another day.

Tearing his gaze away from the pale stones with flashes of bright color Sherlock followed in silence, mind crafting together the best way to get the information they needed.  
Achcauhtli was a more heavy set man with dark features, except his eyes. Pale brown eyes that made Sherlock question the chiefs origin.

“Achcauhtil. I am-“

“Sherlock Holmes. My people know who you are. Many of yours claim you are bewitched, same as your brother.” He spoke slowly, sounding out each word like he was worried about messing it up. In all honesty he spoke better than many of the men Sherlock took the time to remember. “You see things no mortal eye can see.”

Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Superstitious nonsense.” He said firmly. “The only other alternative to me being ‘cursed’ or ‘bewitched’ is for them to admit their own ignorance, very few have ever been willing to except that.”

Achcauhtils lips curled into a smile, laughing as slow as he talked. The pipe in his hand bellowed out another wave of smoke, making Sherlock remember how long it had been since he’d had even a hint of tobacco.

“You are a strange one. Sit and explain why you are here.”

This was unfolding easier than he would have expected. Sitting across from the man he took mental note of the two guards behind their leader, and the two at the door. “Something happened recently. Something that put your village on its toes.”

“I do not. . understand.” Achcauhtils frowned, bringing the pipe to his lips.

“Something happened that has you worried. All of you. What was it?” Sherlock asked, aggressive tone earning him a glare from the guards as they tensed. One wrong move and he would end up on the wrong end of one of those spears. Odds he wouldn’t have minded so much but John. .

Sherlock forced himself to relax, taking in a small breath . “There is a man who worked for my brother. Moriarty. There are things that suggest he is back on the island.” Sherlock dug his nails into his own leg to resist the urge to demand answers. Achcauhtil knew the name. He actually shivered, eyes looking away in thought.

James had always been a busy man.

“If I were to believe in your kinds Christian Devil it would be that mans face I would see.” Achcauhtil said firmly. “Please, I will not speak of this. Leave

Sherlock stood before he could be yanked to his feet. “Very well.” At least it was assured Achcauhtil wouldn’t be going to Mycroft with any of this information. He could simply ask around while John was tending to the villagers.

 

The child peeked up at him, whispering something to her mother. Sadly, English did not appear to have been learned by everyone. Kneeling down John tried to mimic he was a Doctor. Where had Patli gone? She had been his only way to translate anything between him and the people. It was a lot harder to treat anyone when they didn’t understand what you were saying.

It must have been over an hour since him and Sherlock had parted. The sun was quickly setting but John wasn’t much worried about what Mycroft might say.

After Patli had come back he offered assistance when possible, mentally rejoicing when she suggested food.

“You work hard. I am grateful for the help.” Patli said, pushing a thick braid of hair over her shoulder. They sat in a patch of shade to cool off, something John was very glad for. “You are not pirate.” She said, offering a type of bread John could not recall seeing before.

Taking it happily he broke off a piece, tasting it eagerly. At this point his stomach would have been happy if he’d simply shoved grass into his mouth. This sweet bread tasted like sheer Heaven by itself.

“No. Not a pirate. I was captured.” He explained. “Taken.”

Her expression grew solemn, eyes filled with pity. She looked sorry for him but John wasn’t sure if he felt as horrible about it as he might have at one point. Breaking off another bite he looked around, wishing she would stop looking at him like that.

“Holmes are bewitched people.” Patli said with a nod. “Cursed.”

John went to protest as he swallowed another bite, causing him to cough until his eyes watered. Patting firmly at his chest John shook his head. “Cursed? No. Not cursed.” John finally got out, breathing a little funny after that coughing fit. It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell her curses and other superstitious thinking weren’t real. His mind drifted back to the ship during the storm.

If she was bothered by his protests about Sherlock Patli never showed it, only eyeing him with pity. Most likely thought he was trapped under some sort of curse or spell himself. Suddenly everything he ate didn’t settle so well in his stomach but he kept eating at her insistence.

 

They wouldn’t make it back before dark. Sherlock was mentally calculating their odds for making it back to Mycrofts side of the island safely. It was the sight of John surrounded by a group of small children that brought him back to reality.

No one was willing to speak with him. A problem Sherlock had also been struggling to figure out until he just stumbled upon the solution.

John sat talking rapidly, gesturing wildly with his hands as Patli translated beside him. Whatever was being said the children, and few adults, appeared entranced with it. Their eyes met for half a second at the most but it was enough to have John stumbling over his next few words, causing a ripple of laughter among his avid listeners.

Sherlock felt his heart beat a little harder after that. Now wasn’t the time to become distracted! He could have John talk to them, ask questions. It had only been a few hours and yet they seemed to at least take an interest in him.

“Thank you, Patli. If I can ever be of help please let me know.” John said with a smile that was returned along with a faint blush.

Patli would be the perfect source of what he needed to know. It wouldn’t be hard for John to seduce her.

_No._ The thought came on before Sherlock could process the last idea. Now his mind produced picture after picture of John turning that charming smile on Patli, his hand running across her cheek as her head tilted back to meet his kiss.

As the children started to beg for John to finish the story Sherlock fought back the urge to grab him and go. Patli was obviously attracted to John. No doubt impressed by what she had seen him do. It would solve the current complication if he could convince John to seduce her.

Again Sherlock felt a numbing pain through his chest, making it harder and harder to focus.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” When had John come up to him?

“Nothing.” Sherlock said firmly, running fingers through his hair. He couldn’t bring himself to keep looking at John. “If we head back now we can walk through the night.”  
“Actually Patli offered me, us actually, a place to sleep. As thanks for today.”

“You must have really made an impression.” Sherlock murmured, unable to hold back the sharp edge to his tone.

John was searching his face but Sherlock was more than confident he wouldn’t see anything. There was nothing to even notice! John finally gave up, shoulders sagging ever so slightly as he turned to Patli. Who appeared eager and more than happy to show them to her hut, a place set on the edge of the village to give their medicine woman more room.

Sherlock noticed how her attention was mainly on John. Open body language suggested trust and at least a little fondness. Towards him she was closed off, not even making eye contact.

Their sleeping place was nothing more than a pallet on the floor but it wasn’t like he would be using it. John, on the other hand, actually needed to rest. He looked tired, even more so as they were left alone and he sat beside the pallet of dried grass.

“Were you able to find out what you needed?” John asked, rubbing his face.

Sherlock went to pacing slightly, finding the two room hut very confining. “Enough to know I was right in coming here.” He replied. “There is something they refuse to talk about.”

This was where he needed to convince John to talk to the villagers for him. To convince John that Patli would be a perfect source of information. Not that John would accept such an idea. No. He wasn’t the type to do that to another person. No matter how the end goals would benefit all of them.

That was the reasoning Sherlock used when he threw the idea out. John would never do it. He just wouldn’t. It was a waste of effort.  
Sherlock heard John inquire if he was alright again.

Reaching up to rest a hand over his chest Sherlock felt the tight feeling grow worse. “Perfectly fine.” He lied smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read through all that? Thank you thank thank you! You're fantastic!
> 
> Comments comments comments. I love'em. They help so much. Sorry if I keep saying that to an annoying degree. haha. Kudos are also nice but if you feel the story doesn't deserve it yet I totally understand. :3


	12. Surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so so much to my beta-reader: audreyneedsacase. She is so helpful.
> 
> And a big thank you to all my readers! I can only hope what I'm doing is keeping ya'll thrilled, and that my upcoming chapters do the same. I'm so excited to see what you guys think. <3

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

It didn’t come as a surprise to Mycroft to learn John Watson had been taken again for Sherlocks medical care. Frustrating but far from surprising. It also didn’t come as a surprise when the two men he’d sent out to keep careful watch over Sherlock had lost the pair.

Stroking the stem of his wine glass Mycroft stared into the sunset from his seat, mind working almost too fast for him to keep up. The smell of dinner made his hyper-sensitive senses ache, causing his stomach to recoil. No fault of the cooks. Merely an old symptom of stress. His mind wouldn’t go quiet and there would be periods of days when he couldn’t eat much.

The last few days had been such. Food was still laid out since Gregory was brought for dinner each night but Mycroft hadn’t bothered even pretending to eat. The only things he could stomach were sweets, and those were out of the question.

From the door he heard two sets of feet, already knowing who they were before Athena entered with Gregory.

From the moment Gregory walked in it was nearly impossible to notice anything else. Adding to his already taxed brain that was working harder to focus on Moriarty, Sherlock, and now Lestrade.

The stem cracked in his hand before Mycroft even realized what was happening. The sharp slash of glass cutting into his palm was momentarily welcome as it managed to clear his mind for not nearly long enough.

Without warning his hand was snatched up, a silver head of hair bent over the bleeding palm as warm hands treated the injury gingerly.

“Now, is this necessary, Gregory? You look positively panicked.” Mycroft tossed out, other hand gripping the arm rest tighter when more pressure than needed was pressed into his palm.

“Shut it, Holmes.” Gregory ordered, using one of the clean napkins to clear away the blood. Mycroft ‘tsked’ at the white linen being ruined with such stains. Blood was damn near impossible to get out of anything but that staff would never complain. If anything it would add to their frivolous rumors that seemed to get them through each day.

Another napkin was dipped into an untouched water glass before it was used to clean the area. “Are you quite done?”

Gregory stilled, eyes never lifting from the wound he was cleaning. Sighing softly the man shook his head, forcing Mycrofts hand closed around the napkin before moving away to take his own seat. “Want me to get a doctor? Doesn’t look serious but it’s your call.”

Squeezing the napkin tightly Mycroft lingered between the pain in his palm and the pain of his other wrist. He just needed to clear his mind.

 

Greg might not be like Mycroft but even he could see something was wrong. It hung in the air making it awkward to so much as breathe in fear it would be criticized.

After Mycroft had cut his hand it had just been instinct to take care of it. Now he debated about summoning Anderson or Molly and leaving Mycroft be for the evening. Whatever was wrong it wasn’t his concern. Sighing Greg kept trying to tell himself that as he finished off the rest of his wine. 

“Gregory.”

The tone alone had him freezing in place, heart starting to race a little faster. Instead of answering he pretended not to hear, acting like he was content enough pouring his own wine.

“Gregory, do not make me repeat myself.”

“Sounds like you just did.”

Their eyes met over the table and Greg wondered what Mycroft would do. There were certain limitations with his wrist still hurt and his hand now cut but that didn’t take away from the promise in those quickly darkening eyes. This was new.

Greg watched intently as Mycroft tied the napkin around his hand, slow and careful with each movement. It was clear his wrist was hurting but the stubborn bastard barely even reacted.

Taking his cane in hand Mycroft stood, closing the gap between them and smiling almost kindly when he didn’t move. Greg couldn’t even move when the cane tip was trailed up his leg, then dusting along the edge of his inner thigh. With just the tip of that bloody cane Mycroft had his legs open wider, pressing that silver tip between Gregs legs but not nearly enough to hurt. Oh no, just enough to cause a reaction.

“Keep your hands where they are.” Mycroft ordered after noticing the slight twitch of movement.

Greg squeezed the arm rests hard, breathing a little harder as he felt the cane tip brush along the row of buttons going up his chest. Cool metal grazed the side of his neck, dragging along the underside of his chin to tilt his gaze upward.

From the moment Athena had brought him in here something had felt off.

 

The aroused fear was constantly radiating off Gregory in waves. Slowly his mind was calming down but it wasn’t enough. The deep ache in his loins promised some form of relief. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

Placing his cane on the edge of the table Mycroft reached out to run fingers through already silver hair. Not gray in the least. No. A strong silver color that had attracted his attention from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on Captain Lestrade. Gripping the back of Gregory’s head he pulled his head back, leaning down to capture his lips in a punishing kiss.

With a startled jolt Mycroft pulled back, automatically licking over the little bite mark. Tasting copper he smirked, tightening his grip in the others hair. Gregory merely grinned, licking away the splash of red on his lips.

The pain in his wrist was becoming a touch harder to ignore. A dull ache slipping up his arm. Soaking in the distracting pain Mycroft used that hand to undo the front of his trousers, watching carefully how Gregorys pupils dilated quickly and there was a slight increase of breathing.

 

With only Mycrofts hand to keep him in place Greg trembled as he felt his head tugged forward, bringing him closer to the semi-hard length. His eyes drifted closed right before something warm pressed against his closed lips.

What was happening to him? Greg tried to think as his lips parted with no effort or even sharply worded order. He wanted this.

Greg reached up to hold onto Mycrofts hips, wondering briefly if he’d get in trouble for that. Instead the hand in his hair loosened for a moment, hips arching forward roughly.  
Licking at the head Greg felt the entire thing swell as he took in more, moaning softly.

Whatever was wrong with Mycroft it was clear how this was going to go. The rough tugging in his hair was all the warning Greg got before Mycroft set a rough and fast pace with his hips.

He could feel saliva and Mycrofts release dripping down his chin, filling him with a sense of embarrassment but what made it worse was how he let it happen. Even when Mycroft pulled back enough to let him catch his breath Greg licked at the leaking slit, ignoring his sore throat for the time being.

 

Everything in his head went quiet for the time being. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart mixing with the muffled sounds of Gregory around his length.  
Mycroft watched himself slide between those soft lips, the fine dribble of liquids coursing down Lestrades chin.

Grunting loudly he tensed, head thrown back as he came hard. He could feel Gregory coughing around the sudden gush and loosened his grip enough to where the man could pull back, hearing him swallow and cough. Finally looking back at him Mycroft felt his body grow heavy but there was a silence in his head still. If only it could last a few more minutes. Just a few more precious minutes.

In a hazy state of mind Mycroft stepped back as Gregory stood, calloused hands running along his face before he tasted himself in a gentle kiss. 

“Feeling better now? You little shite.” The words were said against his lips and Mycroft frowned, pushing away from the other so he could go sit but he felt so tired now.  
“Would you care for a drink, Gregory? Something to ease the strain I hear in your throat?” He tossed back, relaxing back into his seat.

“That’s one way to answer .” Gregory murmured.

 

Next thing Mycroft could actually recall he was in his own bed, Gregory sitting across the room just looking out the window.

“You may go now.” Mycroft ordered, sagging back against the pillows with a sigh. Tomorrow he would handle everything but now he just needed tonight to let the dust settle. Impossible to do with Gregory around.

“How’s your wrist?” Instead of leaving Gregory was now by the bed, just looking down at him.

Huffing softly Mycroft turned his face away, eyes closing as if he might doze off right then and there. “If you wish to see me act a fool because of that tea you will not be so fortunate. Now, I repeat, leave.”

Mycroft gasped as his chin was grabbed, turning now wide eyes back to the form standing right by the side of his bed. “Do you want me to go?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want me to go?”

Even in his less than stellar mindset Mycroft couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand. He honestly wasn’t sure if Gregory meant in regards to just now or when it came to him leaving with John Watson but either way it was the same answer.

Mycroft could feel his answer trying to claw its way from his throat but everything froze, almost choking him.

 

Pulling back Greg stripped down to nothing, tossing his clothes on the foot of the bed before doing the same to Mycroft. Mycroft hadn’t said if he wanted him to stay or not but there was something in the back of his mind saying he shouldn’t go.

Laying out next to the other Greg placed a few kisses on the pale dusting of freckles on Mycrofts shoulders, fingers going to tease one nipple. His previously neglected arousal was still at full attention, trapped between his body and Mycrofts hip but he didn’t do anything quite yet about it.

Greg took the other taut point between his lips, sucking and teasing it into a hard nub. Beneath him he could feel the way Mycrofts heart beat harder against his chest. Grinning to himself he moved further down, now kissing at the soft stomach before biting roughly.

Mycrofts little tremble vibrated through him as he added another mark before continuing.

Right by the bed there laid an unlabeled jar Greg was very much familiar with. Mycroft had used that concoction so many times but it wouldn’t be Mycroft using it this time. Rolling over to grab the item he sat up on his knees, nudging the others thighs further apart.

“You can do better than that.” Greg chuckled, giving one pale thigh a rough but still gentle slap to urge them wider.

“But can you?” Mycrofts challenge was as arousing as it was amusing. With his cock jutting out in front of him Greg scooped out two fingers worth of lube, pressing one finger-tip against the tight ring of muscle.

“Just have to find out, won’t we?”

 

It had been quite some time since another man had taken him. Mycroft wasn’t one to take lovers in general really. What rare cravings he had were easily taken care of with items he’d collected over the years of travel.

Though, nothing exactly felt like this. It wasn’t painful but it wasn’t pleasant either. As a second finger was added Mycroft sucked in a gasp, gripping the sheets harder. What was he doing! He shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. His bent knees were kept open by Gregory’s other hand but he didn’t fight to close them. 

The pain in both his hand and wrist were forgotten as his spine bowed, pleasure coursing through him almost painfully in how sudden it was. Mycroft could feel the others fingers touching something inside him, rubbing that spot over and over until his cock was again rock hard and pressed obscenely against his stomach. 

Mycroft bit hard at the inside of his cheek, fighting back the noises that threatened.

“Come on now. Always such a mouthy twat.” Gregory chuckled in a rough voice, scissoring his fingers before adding a third.

His teeth drew blood before he finally gave up, crying out as Gregory continued to move his fingers in and out over and over. That spot inside him getting bumped every few moments. It just wasn’t enough! Though, it was preferable to Gregory stopping altogether.

“No!” Mycroft blushed crimson when he couldn’t bite the word back quickly enough when the digits were taken out, leaving his body begging for something else to fill him.

“Sounding a touch eager there. I think you’re enjoying this, Mycroft.” Gregory looked more than a little proud of himself. That lopsided grin glued to his face as he leaned down to place a kiss against one knee. “Are you enjoying it?”

Mycroft glared up at him before his legs were pulled up and further apart, knees on Gregory’s shoulders. He shouldn’t want this as badly as he did.

 

Greg pushed inside slowly, distracted from his own pleasure by the way Mycroft tightened and the way his head arched back to expose that pale neck.

“You have to relax for me.” Greg murmured, bending down further to bite a little mark on the others shoulder.

“I am fully aware of that.” Mycroft might have tried to sound angry but the breathy tone of his voice made that a little impossible.

Going a little deeper as Mycroft relaxed he moaned against the warm throat, breathing in the scent of him. So bloody tight. Never had a lover felt like this when he’d taken them.

With one final thrust Greg was fully inside, gasping against Mycrofts neck and fighting back the urge to just lose himself. It would only take a few more thrusts but he wasn’t ready for this to be other with either.

A bandaged hand was at his back, nails digging into his shoulder as Mycroft wiggled his hips just slightly. It was a small movement but Greg felt like that action alone could make him reach the brink by this point.

His first few movements were slowly and steady, easing them both into a faster pace until it felt like his blood was going to boil.

 

As the pace increased the painful ache became easier to ignore. It was there but Mycroft found himself unable to truly care as he felt Gregory move faster, slamming into him harder and into that spot. Each time it happened his toes curled and his mind went blank.

“Gregory, there. Right. There!” Mycroft wondered briefly if any of the staff would hear him but found he couldn’t care.

Lips were suddenly pressed against his, a rough hand around his cock and stroking furiously in time with their motions. It only took a few to bring him to a mind numbing release, as well as make him moan out Gregory’s name.

Mycroft trembled when he felt something hot fill him, knowing exactly what it was as Gregory kissed him harder.

 

Panting weakly into the kiss Greg was loathed to move at all. The most he could manage was to break away from the kiss, if only so he could look down and make sure Mycroft hadn’t been moved around too much.

Mycroft looked like he could melt right into the bed. Glazed over eyes gazed up at him but Greg wasn’t sure if they actually saw him right now.

“I don’t want to go.”

The glazed expression became clearer, and Greg prepared himself for mockery or laughter at his admission.  
“Gregory. .”

“Just tell me you don’t want me to go, Mycroft. Please.”

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

The first thing he saw upon awakening was Sherlock. The man sat on the floor with long legs spread out in front of him, fingers steepled beneath his chin. For a moment John thought Sherlock was looking at him but after rubbing the sleep from his eyes it was clear Sherlock was staring at nothing.

So deep in thought he sat there like a statue almost unblinking. “Sherlock, did you sleep at all last night?”

Not even a glance.

Sitting up John rubbed at his sore leg, trying to work out the aches and pains. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet but he could hear movement going on outside.

“Patli! Patli!” A voice yelled for the healer from the covered door.

Sherlock managed to shake himself out of his ‘Mind Palace’ at the same time John was up and going to pull the cloth door aside. The woman standing there tensed, even stepping back away from him. “It’s alright. I’m a doctor. What’s wrong?”

Dark eyes shifted behind him, filling with relief when Patli was suddenly there. The conversation went rapidly, nearly making his head spin. The only things he could manage to grasp was Patli saying his name.

“You help?” Patli finally turned to him, gesturing towards the woman. “Her husband ill. You can help.”

“Of course. Yes.” John agreed, licking his lips before glancing back at Sherlock. Was Sherlock glaring at him?

 

No words were exchanged before John left. Dragged was more like it. Patli didn’t much care for him but Sherlock didn’t require that she liked him or not. Her respect, and growing affections, were for John still it appeared. Bringing back to mind the plan he had considered all night. 

Each time it seriously entered his mind all Sherlock pictured as John placing tender kissing along a very female figure. A breathy voice saying ‘John’, and John responding. It was far too easy to picture after everything they had done together. It just wasn’t him with John in this image. And each time his heart jerked Sherlock was torn between screaming at himself and ignoring it.

John most likely wouldn’t seduce Patli. He was a skilled lover who clearly had enjoyed the pleasure of many others but he wasn’t the type to use someone in such a manner. In fact he might be offended to merely consider it.

Sherlock stood finally, feeling muscles protest after hours of sitting. Stepping outside he scanned the area around him, taking in new information and storing or discarding as his mind saw fit.

A part of him considered returning to Mycrofts side of the island. The chances of anyone changing their mind and speaking with him were just as miniscule as yesterday, and hovering over John as he worked would only hinder the process of having the people trust the doctor.

Again his eyes were drawn to the temple above the village, mind peaking in curiosity as he thought about it. Sherlock didn’t care if the temple had connections with Moriarty or not but there was just a part of him that wanted to sneak in merely to show he could.

Even if he wasn’t going to Sherlock looked at every point he could see, detailing out the best course of getting inside under what conditions. If done properly no one would even know but he would.

Sherlock pictured the annoyed look on Mycrofts face it would cause if-and that was a big if- he found out. Well, if John was going to be busy it was more the doctors fault for not leaving him with anything better to do than wait around. 

 

John tried not to chuckle as he followed Patli from the hut. It only took a few minutes looking at the crying womans husband to know what he suffered from. He’d seen it time and time again on younger shipmates who tried to impress older members of the crew by drinking themselves under the table.

After having Patli explain it would go away with time they had left.

“Rum is no good. Bad.” Patli murmured from beside him, saying the word ‘rum’ like it was a curse.

“Maybe overdone but it’s not so bad.” Her frown made him scramble to re-word it. “Just don’t drink too much and it’s not so bad.”  
Her sudden laughter was a little confusing.

“I understand what you meant.”

“You. . speak perfect English. Of course you do.” John laughed softly, shaking his head.

“I am sorry for how I’ve been acting. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel stupid but it’s easier to find out one your peoples intentions when they don’t believe you can fully understand what they’re saying.” Patli explained.

John shook his head again, chuckling. It was understandable but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little foolish at how he’d had to gesture so ridiculously when he thought she didn’t understand. “No, I get it. I really do. Just bit of a surprise is all.”

“That I speak English? Many of my people do or they at least understand it. “ Patli went on to explain how the medicine woman before her had spoken English, and made sure she knew how to speak it clearly. It was more implied than clearly said one reason why English was needed, in terms of the women of the village who came to her with a man who spoke not a single word of their language.

They returned to Patlis hut only to find Sherlock gone, not that John was exactly surprised. A little concerned but he trusted Sherlock not to get into trouble or simply abandon him on this side of the island.

Patli appeared to share his concern on one matter. “Do you know your way back?”

“Is that your way of asking me to leave?” John joked.

“Your help is greatly welcome. It’s just Holmes. The older one has tried to be fair but the younger one is stranger than his brother. There was another man; my teacher said he had dead eyes. He wasn’t a Holmes but. .” Patli grew silent as she picked at her nails, shaking her head.

“Moriarty.” John didn’t realize he’d uttered the name out right until Patli shushed him, actually grabbing his arm hard enough to gain his attention.  
“Don’t. If my people think you have dealings with that man they will demand you leave.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising that Moriarty might have a reputation on this side of the island. There were sailors that winced at the name and they had never been in such close proximities as Patlis people had been.

Nodding slightly he returned her relaxed smile before a commotion grabbed their attention. It only grew worse when a deep baritone reached his ears, making him curse softly. Ignoring Patlis protest John ran to the crowd gathering, trying to be careful with pushing past everyone but still trying to hurry. Behind him Patli excused him as she followed.

“Sherlock!”

 

John was blowing this completely out of perspective. Sherlock coughed softly, dabbing at his split lip to see if it was still bleeding.

There had been just one slight miscalculation when trying to sneak into the temple. Just one and someone had found him. After practically dragging him back to the village Sherlock had listened to them debate over what to do about him and what he’d done. Or what he’d attempted to do.

“Let me see.” John knelt in front of him, tilting his head back to get a closer look at his lip. They now sat outside Patlis hut, the woman standing nearby watching Sherlock like. . well, it wasn’t a completely lost look on him. She didn’t care for him.

Hissing in pain Sherlock glared at the doctor wiping away the blood, eyes firmly set on his task. “Besides your lip everything seems fine. You should count yourself lucky.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I made a careless mista-“ He winced when the pressure increased on his lip before John pulled back.

“Your mistake was trying to get into a temple I’m pretty sure you knew better than to get into.” John said firmly. “They could have killed you.”

“And have Mycroft so very cross with them over the death of his ‘precious’ little brother?” Sherlock chuckled bitterly. “I was bored!”

“Bored?! You could have gotten yourself killed.” John looked away, eyes closed tight as he breathed slowly in and out to calm himself.

He’d made John angry again. Sherlock thought about lying. Saying he’d thought there might be a connection between the temple and Moriarty. It wouldn’t be the first time Sherlock had lied to someone, nor would it be the last.

 

He should have known a pirate would be so bloody stupid. Risking his life just because he was bored? Maybe John should have let Sherlock be thrown around a little bit more.

“John?” Patli didn’t step closer as she called his name. “They want Sherlock to leave. The warrior who brought you here yesterday told him that temple is forbidden for your people.”

John bit the inside of his cheek, starting to agree they’d be gone and apologizing again. He was going to until Sherlock cut into the conversation. “What about John?”

“What about him?” Patli still didn’t look at him, growing ever more uncomfortable as his strange gaze lingered on her.

“Did they say John had to leave? He’s my captive. Keep him for a while, use his skills. Consider it my heartfelt apology for what I have done.”  
Oh this bastard.

“Patli, would you excuse us for a moment? Please.” John asked, waiting until she walked off before glaring at Sherlock. The pleased expression certainly didn’t ease any worries he had. “Sherlock. .”

“They like you. Even when they thought you were my equal they liked you, if they think you’re nothing more to me than a simple servant it will only help.”

John bristled slightly, “You want me to stay behind and spy on them?”

“Shh, John.” Sherlock glanced around quickly as if to make sure they weren’t being watched. “Patli especially-“

“I am not spying on Patli! Or on any of them!”

“Moriarty is on the island, John. He is here and I need to find them. If I don’t he will leave another clue.”

 

Sherlock knew the moment he had John in agreement. “Patli will be your best source of information.” He offered in a small attempt to make this easier for John, and for himself in the long run.

“She won’t talk about him. As much as they don’t care for you the people here are actually scared of just the thought of Moriarty.”

His mouth went dry as images of John smiling warmly at Patli filled his mind. “You’re a handsome man that Patli is attracted to. You also aren’t nearly as stupid as many others I’ve interacted with.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before John shook his head, easing a tight knot in Sherlocks chest. “You’re honestly telling me to. . to what? Seduce her? Sherlock. .”

“She will know of every out of the ordinary thing that happens here.” He watched the other struggle with the idea, feeling rather gleeful over the conflict John was obviously struggling with.

“I can’t do that. What type of bastard do you take me for?” His voice was clearly straining to remain below a shout but Sherlock could see the disbelief. Not to mention how personally offended John appeared to be at it even being suggested.

“Is that your only reason? That it would make you a ‘bastard’? Honestly, John, there is the chance it could save a life and you’re worried about hurting her feelings?”  
John was up and gone before Sherlock could react, not giving a solid answer.

_I don’t want you to do it. I don’t care what Moriarty does. I don’t want you to touch her. No one. No one but me._

 

How could anyone sit there and just think it was okay to use people like that? A bloody pirate, that’s who. The same bloody pirate he had been. .  
John kept walking until he was hidden by the trees before raking both hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated noise.

This would make it easier to leave. That was good. John repeated that to himself for a few moments, trying to convince himself it was actually helpful what Sherlock had attempted to do. He would return to the other side of the island and leave with Greg. There was nothing he would be leaving behind.

Sherlock was a pirate. That was all. There would be nothing lost when John left.

What he had been thinking – feeling – was a mistake.

Feeling more secure in his plans John turned back towards the village, prepared to go find Sherlock.

“Ow!” He slapped a hand at where some sort of insect bit him, actually going light headed from the little jolt. John pulled his hand back expecting to see a crushed body of a bug he’d never seen before, only to have his entire body grow cold.

The next step he took ended with John on his hands and knees, heart already starting to beat slower.

“Sher. .lock. .”

 

Unable to remain still just waiting Sherlock got up to search out for the doctor, hoping to do so before he was physically removed from the village. The only other person John could say he knew in the village was Patli, the best option was to find her in order to locate John.

It took a little longer than he would have liked, since many of the villagers had the habit of trying to hide when he attempted to speak with them. By the time Patli was found Sherlock found himself growing steadily more irritated and barely able to control the impulse to snap at anyone who so much as looked at him.

“Where is –“

“Sherlock Holmes!” Everyone parted to get out of Chicahuas way, some scattering as if scared to witness what was about to take place. “You leave now! You and your doctor!”  
“I will leave but I had hoped to leave John behind, temporarily. As an apology.” Sherlock explained. A plan that he was starting to somewhat question.

“No! You leave now! Where is John Watson?” Chicahua glared, knuckles nearly going white as they squeezed the spear in his left hand.

This wasn’t just about the temple. Sherlocks eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly. “Where is the body?”

Around him the people that understood him started murmuring, the others merely growing uncomfortable just because the English speakers were. Chicahuas eyes went wide, chest hitching on a sharp intake of air.

Patli stepped forward now, speaking rapidly. “Chicahua!” She snapped when he looked away. When he started speaking it was in his own tongue, forcing Patli to translate.

“A body was found in the jungle. A young man with his throat. . cut. There was. .” She looked away, hand covering her mouth. “You have to leave.”

Sherlock wanted to see the body. Something had been done to make them jump to the conclusion it was somehow connected with him, and John, being here. They weren’t being blamed for it but he needed to see that damn body!

Patli looked at him now. Actually it was more she looked in the space right next to his head. “I am very grateful for Johns help but you have to leave.”

Something started tickling at the back of his mind as he frowned. “John isn’t with you.” No reason to question it. He already knew the answer.

“I left you two alone. Where is he?”

That tickling feeling in the back of his mind grew into a hard to ignore prickling that made its way through his entire body in a matter of seconds.

Everything faded to white noise as he started looking around. John wouldn’t have left without at least telling Patli. Chicahua hadn’t seen him either; otherwise he wouldn’t have said that a man who had already left needed to leave again.

Physically turning around Sherlock tried to focus his mind on spotting anyone that would know something. It could anything from a lingering glance, a cocky upward turn of the lips. Something that would give them away.

Sherlock slapped at a hand reaching out for his arm, not bothering to look at the warrior who jerked his hand back with a hiss.

“I need to see the body.” At the silence he was forced to look at Chicahua. “I need to see it now!”

“You have to leave!” Chicahua snapped.

“Chicahua.” Patli spoke softer, obviously pleading for something. Sherlock felt his chest squeeze in foolish jealousy as she pleaded, no doubt only for Johns sake.

 

Long fingers raked through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. For one foolish moment John actually thought it was Sherlock but it wasn’t. Even before opening his eyes he knew it wouldn’t be Sherlock that he saw.

John tried to force his eyes open, wincing at the not so gentle tug to his hair.

“You might still be a tad bit groggy. Just a wee bit.” The voice was male but slightly high pitched, almost a giggle.

“Mori. . Moriar-“ John started coughing at the struggle it took just to say the first bit of the bastards name. A rough grip turned his gaze upward, forcing him to meet beady eyes that sent his pulse racing even in this state.

“Doctor John Watson.”

The man knelt in front of him, keeping Johns head up with the hand still tangled in his hair. This wasn’t exactly what John had pictured when hearing stories of the blood thirsty James “The Professor” Moriarty. This man was small, downright slender. Almost delicate.

Breathing heavily John tried to yank his head away but the slightest movement caused the hand to tighten. “Already feeling better? My my, Doctor! We certainly can’t have you up and about quite yet.” Moriarty stood now, loosening his grip only enough to start stroking the ashy blonde hair like one would a dog.

Just one solid kick and he could knock the other off balance. Just had to get control back of his legs.

The heel of one of Moriarty’s feet dug into his ankle, causing John to hiss before biting the inside of his cheek and holding back the pain.

“Sebby!” Moriarty yelled, whistling softly before giggling loudly.

Johns gaze focused on the room they were in, trying to decide where they were before a large figure drew his attention. The man was a fighter, and it wasn’t just the large frame that told him that. Powder blue eyes were calculatingly cold, giving nothing away as he held up a hand holding a decent amount of rope.

“Sher. . lock. .”

“Not here yet. He’s been so slow lately. Very disappointing.” Moriarty sighed, pacing around the stone room as ‘Sebby’ started bounding Johns hands and feet. “Oh, you’re glad Sherlock isn’t here yet!”

John didn’t as much as blink as the slender figure knelt back in front of him, grasping his chin tightly. He could feel blunt nails digging into his chin but didn’t dare react. At least he didn’t think he did but Moriarty smiled, eyes narrowing as his nails dug in deeper.

“Jim, you don’t want to maim him yet.” 

“Sebastian.” The voice was a growling purr of warning that had even the hair on the back of Johns neck stand on end.

The dark head turned away, expression unreadable. “My orders from you were to remind you not to maim him.”

With a pout Moriarty pulled away, throwing his hands in the air as he paced. “Then YOU keep an eye on him!”

Sebastian merely nodded, trailing the figure with his eyes as Jim left the room in a huff.

God, if there was one; he just didn’t want Sherlock to search for him. John let his head sag back against the cold wall, eyes too heavy to keep open as he tried to keep breathing. Why had Moriarty even kidnapped him? What reason would Sherlock have to come looking for him? In an effort to keep awake John turned his head to press a warm cheek against the cold stone, allowing the chill to perk his senses further awake.

“The drug your body is currently experiencing requires more than an iron will.” Sebastian didn’t sound playful like Moriarty. He merely sounded factual. “Something Jim came up with. You were lucky this wasn’t one of the more fatal doses.”

“Somehow. . I don’t feel. . so lucky. .” John murmured, turning his head to the other side and pressing against the wall. Lucky to be in the hands of a mad man? Moriarty wasn’t what he had expected but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Closing his eyes John could clearly picture the scar carved into Sherlocks lower back, the spider a reminder never to be forgotten. He could see a powerful woman like Irene growing fearful at just a hint of a name.

The bodies he had already seen lined up because Moriarty wanted to play a game.

No. James Moriarty was clearly far worse than anything he could have ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading through all that? Great! You're fantastic. Utterly so.
> 
> Comments comments comments! Please and thank you. They're very helpful in telling what I might need to alter to keep this an enjoyable reading experience for ya'll. Kudos are also lovely but if you don't have time I understand, and if you feel the story doesn't deserve kudos yet I completely understand. :3
> 
> If you want to drop a comment in anon feel free to find me on Tumblr.


	13. Disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my beta-reader: audreyneedsacase. Superb job as usual! :3
> 
> And a big big thank you to the readers. I merely hope you're still enjoying everything. Big surprise next chapter! Almost can't wait to tell you.
> 
> Next chapter will end the first part. Just the first part. haha. Already got things planned out so I hope ya'll plan on sticking around.

Patli stood slightly behind him, whispering what could only be a prayer as she watched him handle a body already grown stiff from death. A poison of some sort but what was it? The cut to his throat had barely bled, suggesting the wound had been inflicted post-mortem.

It took noticeable effort to move any part of the dead body. After what was the fifth gasp on Patlis part Sherlock felt his self-control grow thinner. Why was it so hard to think? Closing his eyes Sherlock laid out every detail he had, rolling it over and over in his mind until his eyes finally sprung open.

“There!” He cried happily after rolling the body over to point out a small mark on the back of the neck that was almost faded. “A dart of some sort. He was obviously murdered but not by the cut throat. The person who did this wanted it known he was killed but not how.”

“Does death honestly make you so happy?”

Looking over his shoulder Sherlock saw the way she looked at him, so eager to run away as if whatever he had was contagious. There was nothing he could say that would make her comfortable about him. He wanted to shout in her face that everyone would die but at least this man had an interesting death. He wasn’t as boring as her death would be.

The words were there, razor sharp on the tip of his tongue but Sherlock merely turned away. He could hear John shouting at him not to say things like that to people.

Searching the grassy area he found nothing. Whoever had killed this man had taken the time to search out the dart and take it with them. Kneeling back by the body Sherlock leaned in closer to get a better look at the mark.

A tickling sensation at a hand braced against the ground drew his attention long enough for him to see the creature crawling there. Slowly pulling his hand up Sherlock frowned.

“Do you know what type of spider this is?” Sherlock asked, turning his hand around carefully to allow the smallish arachnid to crawl around onto his palm.

“I’ve never seen that type before.” Patli said nervously, not daring to take a closer step.

“Noble False Widow. _Steatoda nobilis_.” 

This one was male, as only females tended to bite humans. Lowering his hand Sherlock let the spider crawl off, heart pounding in his chest.

 

John could feel his body slowly come back under control but the knots around his wrists and ankles were far too tight to do anything about them.

“Moran. Sebastian Moran.” Sebastian said from across the room, bowing his head politely. The man looked like a fighter but now that John could focus on him better he looked rather clean-cut.

“Doctor John Watson.” He finally replied, licking his lower lip absent mindedly.

“Oh, I am well aware of who you are, doctor. Jim has developed, shall we say, an obsession with you. Nothing personal.” Sebastian was so calm, brushing blonde hair back. He was big and looked strong.

Trying to think of a way out he tried to keep Moran talking. “Because of Sherlock.”

“Quite right.” He chuckled, glancing towards the door that was nothing more than a finely decorated piece of cloth. “The fact Sherlock has willingly kept you around sparks Jims interest. It’s so rare when something does that these days.”

“Glad I could be of service.” John said in a mockingly sweet tone.

Powder blue eyes slid back to his face, another chuckle escaping him. “I’m sure you understand. Sherlock Holmes can be as bad as Jim when he grows bored.”

John felt something in his chest rebel at such a notion as he thought about everything he had heard, and even knew to be Moriartys handiwork. Sherlock couldn’t. . he wouldn’t! 

“Ah, you forgot he is a pirate by trade. Tell me, Doctor Watson, what have you heard of Sherlock Holmes? Please, spare no details.” Sebastian smiled almost warmly.

“Sebby! What is this? Taunting the captive?” Moriarty looked at Sebastian (conspirator? Henchman ?) with a look a disappointed mother might give her child before his expression did a complete turn. He was beaming proudly as he placed a hand on the back of Sebastians neck, stroking like one would a pet. 

“Merely remembering my manners, Jim. Polite conversation isn’t quite the struggle you appear to believe.” Moran winced as the grip at his neck grew tighter, Jim leaning in closer to whisper something in his ear.

Some might argue the point that Moran was so much larger than Moriarty, as if that meant he should be the powerful one but John knew size couldn’t get you everything. Watching the two interact it was very very clear who controlled who, and that Sebastian didn’t care to be taking orders from Moriarty.

“It’s very rude to stare, John.”

John tensed when those beady eyes met his, lips curled into a sneer. Was it possible to get a read on a man like this? The hands tied at his lower back ceased trying to work the knot loose, making him realize how sore his fingers and wrists felt already from the rough rope.

As Moriarty came closer he sucked in a breath, thinking of anything to do if that madman came too closer or tried something funny.

“Sherlock should be here soon. Even when you’re not around you’re too much of a distraction for him.” Jim huffed, leaning down in closer. He felt trapped in the too calm gaze, noticing too late as a dart was pressed against his throat.

In a matter of minutes the world around him started going hazy again, the voices belonging to Jim and Sebastian too unfocused for him to follow much of the conversation as he sagged back against the wall.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Athena had been Mycroft’s right hand for years. One of the few people he would ever be honest in saying he trusted. Their relationship wasn’t what many would expect for such sentiment but they were comfortable in how things were expressed. He could feel her presence behind him even before she spoke.

The slight catch in her voice was the only red-flag he needed. Turning from the window, and other heavy thoughts, Mycroft met her eyes with a blank expression and one slightly raised eyebrow. “Sherlock and Doctor Watson still have not been spotted.” He sighed in annoyance, allowing the smallest of frowns.

“Paul Dimmock, sir. One of the people who worked for Moriarty was found dead this morning.”

“Irene Adler?”

“Under watch now. Her bags were already packed when we went to speak with her.”

Mycroft nodded. Everything he would have wanted done already taken care of. Just how had it slipped between his fingers like this? This explained all of Sherlocks behaviors and he should have known that! Sherlock had known Moriarty was back on the island.

“The moment Sherlock is spotted I want him brought to me. Same for John Watson. Do not send anyone to look for them. Let Sherlock think he has escaped my attention.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Athena,” he turned back to the window to give himself enough time to push away the mental image of Gregory clinging to him that morning when they awoke, “have a ship prepared for Gregory Lestrade and John Watsons departure. I want it ready to sail at a moment’s notice.” 

 

Unlike the last few mornings since John and Sherlock were brought back no one had come to take Greg back to the cell. Which was both a blessing and curse.

Being back in the cell meant he could try and forget about what he had said that night. Here he had woken up surrounded by the combined scent of them. Embarrassingly the first thing Greg remembered doing was rolling over to bury his face into Mycrofts pillow, grinning into the feather stuffed pillow before coming back to himself.

Greg didn’t exactly regret what he’d said last night. It was the truth after all. A part of him didn’t want to go. Something about being here felt good. 

Being here with Mycroft felt amazing. It didn’t really seem fair to call it ‘right’. Greg knew that staying here meant he would be sharing his bed, maybe more, with a pirate. And not just any pirate. Mycroft Holmes. Once John returned without him there was little chance he’d be welcomed back without it looking suspicious.

The thumb nail on his left hand was taking the brunt of his confused pondering. Every time Greg started to pace he’d start biting at his thumb nail like when he was a kid, only this time there wasn’t a mother standing by ready to slap his hand. Cursing softly he looked at the blood welling from the nail bed, grimacing.  
What would he tell John?

Before he knew it Greg was heading for the door, aching for a good pint at Irenes pub. His obstacle came in the form of Athena, her smaller figure appearing in the front entrance way. Greg freely admitted to not being as smart as Mycroft but her suddenly being here while Mycroft wasn’t raised a few red flags.

Taking the final few stairs down Greg wondered if she was there for him.

“Captain Lestrade, I have a message from Mr. Holmes.”

That answered that.

She went on to explain how Greg was being allowed to keep everything Mycroft had gifted him with over the last few months, or it would be discarded at his request. When Athena mentioned everything being moved onto a ship if he chose to keep certain things Greg frowned, interrupting with a confused “What the bloody hell is Mycroft talking about?”

“As soon as Mr. Watson is located you will both be returned to London. As per yours and Mr. Holmes’ agreement.” 

Greg knew it was impossible but for a second it felt as if his stomach dropped, leaving him painfully breathless as he struggled not to ask ‘Why?’

“Great news. Fan-bloody-tastic. About time that bloody bastard kept his end of this deal.” Greg laughed. “Tell Mycroft he can do whatever he wants with everything. Not exactly mine, is it?”

No. He didn’t want any of it. Even what he was wearing then felt like too much. Reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt Greg shrugged, playing the gesture off.

At least he hadn’t told John yet. No. He would return to London, help John, and get back on a ship. That was the plan. It was the perfect plan. And he had honestly been about to stay here?

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

“Jim, do we really have time for th-“

It had to be in his head. John listened to muffled panting and a high pitched moan as his brain slowly worked to turn itself back on as whatever Moriarty had put into his body eased up. Trying to open his eyes there was nothing but darkness, sending his still tired brain into a panic before realizing there was a bag of some sort over his head.

As if knowing John was now awake to hear them Moriarty grew louder, almost screaming as Moran did whatever he was doing. How could anyone deal with a mad man like that?  
John forced his attention back to his current situation. Ankles still bound behind his back, ankles still tied together. Only difference was the bag and him leaning against something different than stone rock. This felt warmer, smoother.

Had he really been moved and not even reacted?

A loud cry broke Johns already struggling line of thought.

Yep. Moriarty definitely knew he was awake and was putting on some sort of sick show for him.

Breathing slowly he focused on any other sounds. A soft dripping noise caught his attention. Whatever it was it was dripping down into water.

The bag was yanked over his head without warning, leaving John to blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted to everything again.

Moran stood nearby looking completely put together, minus the faint flush along his cheeks. Jim was the one who looked rather disheveled, even his hair was slightly ruffled. Those beady little eyes were still the same, mocking him as their gazes locked.

“Was that rude of me, Doctor Watson?” Jim giggled. “I would have thought you’d be used to such things. Sherlock has quite the appetite.”

Sebastian shook his head before glancing over his shoulder. “If you can be trusted alone with Doctor Watson I’ll go get into position.”

“What are you going to do to Sherlock?” His voice sounded weak but John knew he’d been heard. Moriarty was laughing like he saw a cute animal do a trick. Slender fingers were in his hair, stroking roughly.

“Do be a good boy. I actually don’t know what another dose will do to you. Sebby was actually worried the last time might kill you !” Jim laughed.

“What are you going to do to Sherlock?” John asked with more force; muscle in his jaw twitching when the fingers tightened in his hair.

 

Rain soaked curls clung to his neck and face before Sherlock was able to comb them back. He was so close. With the help of rain water Sherlock wiped away the blood that had caked on his chin, prodding the cut on his lip carefully.

He had to double back after escaping from Chicahua. After they found the pistol in Johns medical bag everything Sherlock had tried to say about Moriarty was pointedly ignored and he had been forced back to Patlis tent since the weapon was there. From their wild gestures and shouting, Sherlock knew some were trying to blame the young warrior's murder on him. It made sense, mainly if you were an idiot, but there wasn’t time for this.

Jim had John.

Unfortunately the bickering wasn’t enough to hold their attention when Sherlock had tried to slip out unnoticed. .

Sherlock ran now, cursing himself when he was blinded enough by rain to trip up and sprawl out on the jungle floor. He had to get to John before Chicahua and the others found him.

The temple! Of course it was the damn temple! It was so obvious Sherlock couldn’t help but hate himself a little bit for not noticing sooner.

That meant some of the villagers had known about Jim being here. They had even helped. Mycroft wouldn’t take that well but that was his problem to handle.

No. Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to care much for island politics as he crouched down towards the boundary of the forest, crawling through the under bush silently. The rain came harder, drenching his already soaking frame further.

It was hard to see but he could make out the back of the temple from here, the rock flashing silver from the rain. When no guard came to stop him this time Sherlock walked his way to an entrance, fully aware this was more of a trap than luck.

Torch light led the way down a surprising string of hallways. Each turn down a different path Sherlock hesitated, trying to feel out any sign of danger. The only thing he could sense was the overall quiet in the temple. Even the rain outside was getting harder to hear as he kept going forward.

“Shhheeerlock! Here Sherly!!”

Sherlock sucked in a breath at the maniac laughter echoing off the stone. All this time and that voice was the same as it had always been. Jim had never hid his true nature from him. Their dynamic had been exciting, more than anything Sherlock had ever experienced in his life.

It was more than simple finding Jim. It wasn’t like he was hiding anymore.

The large pool was in the center of the circular room, most likely a hot sprint of some sort. A center for ceremonies and whatever else. The elements that caused it to bubble would have been interesting if it wasn’t for the sight of John standing merely a few feet in front of him.

“Sherlock! So so glad you could join us. You look like a drowned cat!”

 

John shivered at the giggling voice behind him, feeling a cold hand trail up and down his spine. Well, he couldn’t feel Moriartys hand but it just made sense that it would feel cold. The bag over Johns head cut off all light but he could still hear somewhat.

Something inside him loosened at knowing Sherlock was there but what about Moran? 

“Oh, I think Johnny boy is happy to see you.” Moriarty chuckled as if he’d made a joke, pinching his side hard enough to draw out a gasp.

“Sherlock!”

The fingers dug harder into his side, cutting off Johns attempt at a warning. “Such a loyal little pet you’ve acquired. However did you get him to forget that you were the very man who captured him? I am in awe of your skills.” Jims words stung, making John glad that the bag hid his expression.

“At least one of us can be so easily impressed.” Sherlock sounded bored now. “I’m disappointed in you, James.”

“You’re the one who’s disappointed?” Jim laughed softly, the sound of him pacing around filling Johns ears before a quick shove sent him to his knees. It took quick reflex not to fall forward on his face. “You’re the one who’s disappointed?!” Jim screamed.

 

Don’t react. Don’t react.

Sherlock repeated over and over to himself as he fought the urge to watch John, check for any obvious injuries. John looked as if his knees were having trouble supporting him. What had Jim done? Better question, what had Jim forced into Johns body to make him weak?

Jim was the same as he’d ever been. Slender, pale features and that devious smirk. Sherlock didn’t find most anyone sexually attractive. It was more a persons mind that he found appealing and Moriarty. . oh what a mind the bastard had.

“Oh, worried I’ll hurt your pet?” Jim laughed, standing over a kneeling John. “You’ve gotten clumsy. Honestly, Sherlock, is what you’re doing exciting? You’ve been so bored lately. So very bored.”

He watched the other stroke the bag over Johns head before the tight grip ripped it off, exposing Johns startled face. Eyes somewhat glassy but otherwise fine from the looks of it.  
“Sherlock, get out of here!”

“Goodness me! The little sweetheart speaks! Let’s listen!” Jim giggled, kneeling down and leaning in closer to John.

“There’s someone else. You need to get out!”

Sherlock watched the pleading desperation so raw and exposed on Johns face. At the mercy of a man like Moriarty and he was telling him, Sherlock, to leave?

“Sebastian Moran. Jims little toy.” Sherlock replied.

Jim gave a dramatically shocked face. “That’s just rude, Sherlock.”

Ignoring him Sherlock met Johns pleading eyes. “If Jim had the intention of Moran killing me there is nothing I could do by this point. Moran is never far from his masters calling. Whatever would your ‘Sebby’ do without you? Come crawling back to Mycroft on his knees? Remember those days, Jim?” Sherlock looked at the other man now, watching his eyes narrow and lips grow thin in a tight line.

It’s the flash of silver that cuts off his attempts to rile Jim up. Almost from nowhere Jim had produced a dagger that wouldn’t be much in a fight but perfect enough for cutting a throat.

“Jim. .”

Sherlock doesn’t spare a glance over his shoulder, eyes trained only on the scene in front of him. “Moran.” He managed. “Judging by your tone might I assume we should expect company?”

 

Company? Could it be Mycroft? Even if it wasn’t it was far more welcome than their current companions. John tensed as a blade was brushed over his throat, barely breaking the skin but it was nerve wrecking.

During this process Jim never took his eyes from Sherlock. “I wonder if we have enough time to make your little pet match you?”

“Jim.” Sherlock growled.

Moriarty placed a cheek against his shoulder, making John nearly gag at the gesture. “Do you still remember that night, Sherlock?”

John reacted before thinking, jerking away before slamming his shoulder into the soft cheek. Let Moriarty remember that if he ever so much as thought about Sherlock. He expected Moriarty to lash out but he didn’t think the water was so close. At least not close enough for a hard kicking push from Moriarty to send him falling, hands still bound, into the hot pool of water.

He managed to suck in a breath as his back hit the water. Ears ringing from the wild laughter and Sherlock yelling his name.

Trying not to panic he tried kicking with his legs, heart pounding as he kept sinking. The water wasn’t as hot as John would have thought but he had to close his eyes, finding it uncomfortable. Soon as he hit the bottom he could just kick his way to the top.

_Please, God, let us live._

Hopefully Sherlock had gotten away. As the tight feeling in his chest grew painful enough to make him light headed John felt a little better thinking Sherlock had gotten away. Without a distraction there was no reason he wouldn’t have escaped.

John felt his back connect with the bottom of the pool, body giving a slight twitch in an attempt to carry out his plan of kicking to the surface.

John didn’t recall his body actually moving but next thing he knew he was breaching the surface, drawing in lungful’s of air before coughing up what little water he’d swallowed. He wasn’t sinking again?

“Sherlock. . should have. . left without. . me.” John murmured, feeling the arm around his waist tighten but the other man said nothing in response.

Back on solid ground John felt the ropes around his wrists loosen as they were removed but all he could do was grunt in thanks.

 

After the warmth of the pool the air felt even more chilled but Sherlock didn’t even shiver as he laid John out on the floor, checking for clear signs of injury. Little needle marks like the dead warrior but John didn’t appear to be struggling to breathe.

“Moriarty escaped.” Sherlock murmured more to himself, nearly choking on the words.

 

It was deathly quiet as the Holmes brothers sat there but that didn’t mean nothing wasn’t being said between them. Their eyes spoke volumes, daring the other to break the silence first.

John was at Andersons to be kept under careful medical watch, so Sherlock had ordered Molly be the one to tend to him. Mycroft hadn’t left it up to choice if Sherlock wanted this meeting or not. Actually having an escort bring him here after he changed.

“Shall we get on with it?” Sherlock sighed. Mycroft loved to scold him. A few empty words and he could leave. Make sure John was alright.

“You let Moriarty escape.” Mycroft said calmly, leaning back in his seat. “Knowing Jim as well as you do, what do you believe his intentions were with this show, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shifted under the cool eyes, feeling like a child again. He had prepared himself for Mycrofts anger but this wasn’t anger. It was pity.

“To show off. This was an attempt to show off and rub it in our faces that the killer you sent out failed.”

“Do you believe Jim had any real attention of harming you this time?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in question, head tilting slightly.

“You were distracted.”

The words were more agonizing than a physical slap to the face. “Shut up, Mycroft.”

“You were foolish, Sherlock.”

“Shut up!” Sherlock stood, slamming his hands on Mycrofts desk.

Mycroft watched his emotional display, ‘tsking’ softly. “John Watson will return with Captain Lestrade to London.”

Sherlock dug his nails into the solid wood, never looking away from his brothers face.

“Do you honestly still need someone to blame?” His tone suggested Mycroft already knew the answer.

“If John makes the choice to stay?”

Mycroft appeared to consider the idea. “Ask yourself this, brother dear, do you think Moriarty is done with John if he stays by your side? You think yourself unable to be surprised by Moriarty now, don’t you?”

Sherlock flushed, pushing away from the desk and pacing across the room, fingers tearing through still damp curls. Behind him he could feel Mycroft laughing at him. Why shouldn’t he?

“Blame me if it eases your burden. Consider it a gift.” Mycroft merely stated, voice uncharacteristically softening. “I am sorry, Sherlock.” 

 

Something soft pressed against Johns forehead, drawing him further out of sleep. “Sherlock?” His slurred voice was barely above a groan but enough to be heard by the person feeling his forehead. At a feminine giggle he opened his eyes, grinning weakly. “Always a good day when woken up to see such a lovely lady.”

Molly giggled, shaking her head. “Safe to say you’re feeling better. Sherlock’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Sherlock is alright?” John didn’t bother to hide his relief. He vaguely remembered being pulled from the water, brought here. All by Sherlock. “Where. . where is he?”

“Mycroft need to talk with him but he’s fine, John. I promise.” Molly smiled kindly. “I’ve never seen him like that before. I don’t think anyone else noticed but he was scared.”

“Moriarty got away.” John tried to reason before he was silenced by her knowing gaze.

Had Sherlock really been scared over him? John wanted to scoff at the idea. After all, hadn’t Sherlock tried to convince him to seduce another person for information?  
Sherlock had also risked his life again to save him. Even allowing Moriarty to slip through his fingers to save him.

John closed his eyes as everything started spinning, sighing at the cool cloth pressing against his forehead.

Did that really change anything? Sherlock was still a pirate. Just because he’d shown traces of humanity didn’t wipe out years and years of bloodshed.

Both John and Molly jumped as a door was thrown open in the other room, loud shouting from Anderson demanding to know what whoever it was thought they were doing.

A few cutting remarks and John relaxed, knowing exactly who it was before Sherlock made himself known. At the look of him Molly tensed, squeezing Johns hand before standing and bowing her head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

John tried to sit up, grinning towards Sherlock as his heart started beating a little faster. Something didn’t feel right. Why was Sherlock looking at him like that? Like he did at anyone else.

“Sherlock.”

“You will return to London with Captain Lestrade. Consider your ransom debt paid in full.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I might have given the Noble False Widow a bit more deadly credit than it really has. I honestly found a decent mix of sources that said such spiders weren't dangerous, and others saying they were.
> 
> Finish reading all that? Fantastic! <3 Thank you so so much!
> 
> Comments comments comments. I love'em. They're so helpful. Honestly, very much so. Kudos are also great but if you feel the story doesn't deserve that yet I completely understand. :3


	14. Weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderful audryneedsacase. She has been so so very helpful as I wrote out these chapters.
> 
> Now, right off, this isn't the ending overall. Just the ending of part 1. I won't leave you hanging for two years though, cross my little'ol heart. I'll try to have chapter 1 of part 2 out soon. Just a lot of personal stuff is going to be taking up my time soon but I won't just leave ya'll hanging.
> 
> Please don't forget about this universe before I manage to get part 2 posted.

The pain slammed into him so hard John struggled to breathe. Sitting up he ignored the dizzy sensation, only able to think about what Sherlock had just said. Each word echoing inside his skull until John wanted to cover his ears.

What was he supposed to do now? Demand to stay? It would just sound like begging and where would that land him? In the arms of a man who, clearly, didn’t want him around. Leaving John to become a discarded piece of rubbish that had pleasured Sherlock just until the pirate captain got bored.

Even now John could tell Sherlock wasn’t looking at him. Already disgusted with his choice of lover?

John cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the blanket on his lap. Why was everything starting to spin? Must be left over effects from whatever Moriarty had put into him. That had to be the reason.

“Good then. Great. It’s about bloody time. Would have gone home sooner if you had just left me in that bloody cell.” John chuckled, praying silently that Sherlock couldn’t hear the slight catch in his voice. 

He blinked and Sherlock was gone, leaving him to wonder if this could have just been a vivid hallucination. No. He could faintly hear Sherlocks voice before Molly joined him, forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The pounding in his chest grew worse as John looked down at his hands to find them practically strangling the soft blanket. This was what he’d wanted.

“John?”

“I’m good, Molly. Just a little winded.” John said in a stronger tone.

 

The days Mycroft was unarguably right always got under Sherlocks skin but none quite like today. A part of him had wanted John to be upset about leaving, maybe even beg just so he could see the proud doctors affection.

The reality was so much worse. How could he have wished that on John? For a brief moment he had seen John about to beg, everything all but said but he had held back.

Now Sherlock was glad for it.

Mycroft was right about all of this or almost all of it. Keeping John with him was sending the doctor to the slaughter house with Jim still alive.

As loath as Sherlock was to admit it this was what was best for John to leave. And it was best for Sherlock if John left. John really was nothing more than a distraction.

Sherlock trekked through thick puddles of mud, not breaking his stride as he came to Irenes pub. The woman was still here but was keeping to herself more and more, giving no actual reason. No one besides a select few knew Jim was alive or if they did it was kept silent. It was rumored speaking the Devils name too loudly would have demons chasing your heels. So it wouldn’t be a stretch to think the superstitious folks thought talking about Jim would summon him.

Walking up to the bar he bypassed the woman lingering there, ignoring her protest as he made his way to the back.

As expected Irene was doing anything but relaxing. Her bags were packed, ready to go at a moment’s notice and for herself Madam Adler was fully dressed in traveling attire.

“Come to bid me a fond farewell, Holmes?” She chuckled, tipping a glass holding dark liquid towards him. Her make-up was perfect but he detected the faint puffiness around the eyes, not to mention the ever so slight pink coloring of her nose.

“Do you honestly believe you’ll be safe from him?”

“A girl’s got to try, Sherlock. I won’t sit around waiting for my death. Nor will I chase after it as you’ve planned to do.”

Sherlock smirked at her little comment, shutting the door softly behind him as she smirked right back. “Now now, Mr. Holmes. I’m not taking customers at this time.”

“Do you trust me, Irene?”

Her head tilted, lips never moving from their smirk but her eyes were questioning, waiting.

“I can take you somewhere safe.”

He could protect Irene. Someone he considered a friend. He just couldn’t protect the man he. . 

No. John wouldn’t be kept anywhere.

## XxMycroft Holmes/Gregory LestradexX

Molly was the one bringing Greg updates about John. What had happened didn’t matter, so long as John was going to be alright. Both because he worried about his friend, and the sooner John was deemed well enough they were leaving. 

For three days Athena hadn’t come to take him to Mycroft. His only company came when Molly was allowed to talk to him about John but even those weren’t very long.

Greg would miss her. Molly would miss him. Thinking about that felt better than remembering how much he would miss another pain in his blasted arse.

Crossing his arms beneath his head Greg stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft sound of rain. Barely more than a drizzle but it was soothing. Soon he’d be back to listening to the lively streets of London.

It was only when the sound of something metal tapping against the floor started that he realized his eyes were closed.

Getting up Greg watched silently as Mycroft came to stand in front of his cell, looking ever the part of Mycroft Holmes. Not even a bloody piece of hair out of place on his damn head.

 

Mycroft knew even this much was a mistake. Coming here was foolish but it reminded him exactly why Gregory Lestrade needed to go.

“Your ship will be departing tomorrow afternoon, Captain Lestrade. You and Doctor Watson will be taken to the usual exchange point, and after that you will be taken back to London.”

“You couldn’t just send someone else to tell me?” Gregory snapped. He was hurting, angry. Feeling the unfamiliar emotion of regret well up in his chest Mycroft straightened his spine further, fingers gripping the silver head of his cane tight enough to hurt.

“Consider it a sign of respect.” Mycroft chuckled calmly, watching a flush spread along Lestrades cheeks. “Farewell, Captain Gregory Lestrade.”

A strong hand reached through the bars faster than he could react, making Mycroft realize how close he’d actually been standing. The cane fell to the ground with a sharp noise, not that either of them paid heed to it really.

“You bloody bastard! I should wring your bloody neck right now!” Gregorys voice was barely above a growl but there wasn’t a hint of threat behind it.

Mycroft held onto the bars but didn’t push away as the grip loosened, hand going to the back of his neck.

“You bastard.”

This was why Gregory had to leave. He shouldn’t feel this coiling pressure in the pit of his stomach from a mere touch or promise of a touch. This went against everything Mycroft had taught himself growing up.

 

When Mycroft went to pull away Greg yanked him close enough for a kiss, ignoring the rough textured bars as he kissed Holmes one more time.

As his heart started to melt Greg shoved him back, turning away to go back to his cot.

“Go on then. That’s all you had to say to me, aye?” Greg asked, listening to Mycroft retrieve his cane from the floor and walk away without an answer.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat Greg felt a tingly numbness start to spread, giving the impression he was cold. The final ‘click’ of the main door shutting stole the last bit of air in his lungs.

## xXSherlock Holmes/John WatsonXx

Sherlock raked fingers through his curls until they were a tangled mess but even with his fingers pulling at the mess he didn’t stop. Nor did he stop pacing around the sitting room as Olivia watched him from under a chair, whimpering softly.

Tomorrow.

John was leaving tomorrow.

Without much thought –actually rather standard for him – Sherlock was out the door, walking in what he wanted to believe was a random direction. Despite knowing he would end up right outside where John was being kept Sherlock tried to tell himself he didn’t know where he was going.

Resting his forehead against the rough wood he tried to control the rapid beating of his heart, willing his gasping breaths to mellow out.

John was leaving tomorrow.

Pushing the door open he went only to the backroom, nose wrinkling at the chemical smell. The small row of cots were empty but save one.

The figure shifted under a thin blanket, adjusting to a more comfortable position.

“Anderson gave you nothing to help you sleep?”

 

Sitting up quickly John followed the voice, eyes wild and chest heaving. His dominant hand twitched for a weapon but they hadn’t left him with anything.

Another bloody nightmare and now Sherlock. John watched the silver eyes widen at the sight of his sweaty form before it became too much.

Turning his back on the other John pulled the blanket over his head, attempting to will himself back into sleep.

_Go away, Sherlock. Go away. Just go away._

John buried his face in the pillow as foot-steps came closer instead of leaving. Even without looking he knew when Sherlock was standing over him but he didn’t move, nor did he pretend to be sleeping already. Sherlock would just see through it anyway.

Molly had been the one to tell him he was being shipped back to London tomorrow. It shouldn’t have been a surprise since John knew it was going to happen. He’d laid there in bed remembering what Sherlock had said over and over until he wanted to rip his hair out.

“John. .”

Rolling over onto his back John looked up the tall figure, shivering when their eyes locked. “Come to rub it in, have you?” He asked darkly, sitting up since remaining on his back left him feeling overly exposed.

“No. I came to. . wish. .”

“Out with it! Came to what? Wish me well? Bollocks.” John huffed, shaking his head sharply. Sherlock Holmes wish anyone well? “Why did you come here now, Sherlock? Just the truth.”

John watched Sherlock struggle to say something. A rare feat in itself. When had he ever seen Sherlock struggle to say anything? John had to snort at himself. He didn’t actually know Sherlock. Just the image of what he’d built up over their months together. All of it ending with this.

 

The truth? 

Sherlock grabbed the strong chin to tilt Johns head back, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “You did say you wanted the truth, yes?” He asked with a smirk, watching the steel gray eyes light up with both anger and something else.

What little control he might have possessed in this situation went out the door as John grabbed at him. Firm hands maneuvered him onto the others lap, knees on either side of Johns thighs as those same hands tore at his shirt.

At the first sound of tearing Sherlock ground his hips roughly downward, taking the little noises John made and locking them away for himself. He would remember every reaction, expression, and anything else John gave him tonight.

“Look at me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock focused on the man in front of him, feeling hands resting at his hips.

“What did you come here for?”

His hips were pulled downward as John arched up, the friction between their groins leaving him lightheaded. “I-isn’t that obvious, John?” He tried to sound demeaning but it was too throaty, exposing him completely.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Again his hips motions were taken out of his control. At least the hardness pressing against his own was proof John was more than affected.

“You are a man of action. Would you prefer I spell you out a picture or show you?” Sherlock asked, kissing him roughly before John could reply.

 

John let go of the narrow hips to finish ripping off the mans shirt, dropping it to the floor not caring what happened to it. 

He already knew every mark he’d ever made on Sherlocks body was gone, having faded back to a perfect creamy color. If he was leaving tomorrow at least Sherlock wouldn’t be able to forget him anytime soon. Smirking into the kiss John raked his nails down Sherlocks back, feeling the long body arch as he moaned loudly.

Running his hands over the small welts John moved his lips to the proud collarbone, sucking a dark purple bruise there. Each time Sherlock did nothing more than hold onto his shoulders tighter as he made a loud noise of pleasure.

Anderson wasn’t here tonight but what about Molly?

John pictured the poor woman walking in on them but found it nearly impossible to care. Let Greg walk in on them for all he cared right now.

“Take’em off.” John ordered, slapping Sherlocks thigh to indicate he meant the trousers. When Sherlock got up to remove the rest of his clothing John pushed off the loose fitted trousers Molly insisted he wear. Throwing the blanket John moved to sit on the edge of the cot, reaching out to grasp the erection jutting out in front of Sherlock.

Not as thick as his own but more than decent. John gave a few careful strokes, using the clear liquid dripping from the slit to ease any discomfort. His hand was a sticky mess by the time John pulled it away.

 

Sherlock forced his knees not to buckle as John stopped that wonderful friction. It had been sudden but not unwelcome. Fisting his hands at his sides Sherlock stood there watching John start stroking himself with the same hand used on him.

It shouldn’t have been arousing to merely watch Johns cock grow shiny from his essence. When John ran a palm over his leaking head Sherlock trembled as he watched John mix the both of them over his length.

Drifting to his knees carefully on the hard floor Sherlock placed steady hands on Johns thighs, pushing them apart to give him more room. With John still stroking he leaned forward to swirl his tongue over the slit, lapping up the bead of salty liquid before taking just the head between his lips.

He knew just about every single one of Johns little signs that gave away when he was close. Each time John showed even a hint Sherlock would pull away, and John would slow his hand down. It was a perfect system until Sherlock found himself growing frustrated.

Pulling away Sherlock gave one final lick with his tongue, moaning wantonly for Johns sake. Standing he looked around to determine where anything that could be used for lubrication would be.

With his addled senses Sherlock didn’t notice John moving until a wet tongue brushed along his length, nearly sending him back to his knees.

“John!” He cried out before biting his lip hard. “No.” Regretfully he pushed the tempting mouth away, shaking his head at Johns questioning glance. “I am already far too close.” He explained.

 

John sat back with the taste of Sherlock on his tongue. He wanted more, almost reached out to grab Sherlock and hold him in place but he wasn’t stupid. It was clear what Sherlock was searching for.

In the span of a few seconds, though it could have been hours if a person were to ask their lower halves, Sherlock came back to the cot holding a small bottle with a pleased look on his face.

A gentle nudge to his shoulder and John was lying back, arms crossing behind his head as he nodded in the direction of his lower body. The order was clear; Sherlock would have to take care of everything with no help on Johns end. Watching Sherlock shiver in pleasure at the idea was almost enough to undo him.

John watched as Sherlock uncapped the bottle, coating one hand with the slippery mixture before sitting on the edge of the cot. He was fascinated by Sherlocks hands. How graceful they appeared despite the overall size, and they were so smooth.

As the long fingers wrapped around his length John had the afterthought that they were also incredibly hot.

“Oh, Sherlock.” John panted, rolling his head back on his arms as his hips arched.

All too soon the gentle touch was gone, leaving him almost begging for more before he caught himself.

Looking back at Sherlock he watched the man move to place a knee on either side of his hips, already reaching behind himself.

“Sherlock. .”

“It’s fine, John. Perfectly fine.” Sherlock said, pushing two fingers inside the tight ring of muscle. John felt a tiny bit of guilt as he watched the pain flash across the beautifully flushed face. He was about to reach out when Sherlock shook his head.

“This is why I’m here, John.”

A hand rested on Johns chest for support as the other held his cock steady to lower himself down upon it.

Now both hands were on his chest, the head bowed to hide his face. That just wouldn’t do.

 

Lowering himself slowly Sherlock tried to adjust to the girth. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been but he had to remember not to go too fast. 

A warm hand started stroking his thigh; another cupped his cheek to turn his face up. A callused thumb brushed over his lower lip, causing Sherlock to remember one of their first times together like this.

Sherlock focused only on the comforting touches as he took the rest of John inside him.

For a few moments they both remained still, listening to the sound of the others heavy breathing. When Sherlock did start moving it quickly escalated.

The once gentle grip on his thigh was now at his hip, squeezing hard enough to leave finger prints. The hand on his cheek now moved between his legs, wrapping around his cock and stroking in perfect rhythm with their bodies.

Sherlock felt his thighs burning as he lifted up and went back down but even that felt good. He wanted to hurt afterwards, to have every sensation scorched into his memory.

 

John was transfixed on the man bouncing up and down on his cock. Trying to remember the sight of how Sherlock looked on top of him. It was just growing harder and harder to think.

“Sherlock. Bloody hell. Almost. . almost there!” John gasped, moving his hand faster as Sherlock increased his pace. The coiling pressure in his lower stomach grew tighter, making him grip Sherlock harder.

He didn’t know who came first. In the next instant their voices were mixing together in one loud sound of pleasure John almost couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

Not caring about the hot streaks coating his stomach and chest John laid there gasping, running shaking hands slowly up and down Sherlocks waist. This moment was perfect. John almost couldn’t remember anything besides how wonderful it felt to have Sherlock like this.

“You are fantastic.” John giggled in a sleepy daze, grinning up at Sherlock.

Everything was starting to fade out as he watched Sherlock bite his lip again, eyes a little too shiny. No. That was impossible.

God, he just needed to sleep now.

 

Clear sky, strong wind. A perfect day for sailing. John fought down the displeasure when he looked over to see the ship that would be taking him and Greg home.

Beside him Greg was uncharacteristically silent. Both their moods were on a more somber note it appeared. The reasons as to why were still both their own, and maybe they would discuss them. Right now John couldn’t bring himself to ask. Not when the weight in his chest was slowly growing heavier.

Athena was the one to see them off, saying Mycroft was unable to come but giving no reason beyond that. She did hope they didn’t take offense to it.

Sherlock wasn’t anywhere in sight either.

John flexed his hand restlessly by his side was Athena explained what would happen. Simple procedure for a ransom exchange. Both men let her talk, knowing she would speak over them if need be.

“Goodbye, Captain Lestrade. Doctor Watson. We do hope your journey is a safe one.”

Together they made their way onto the ship. They would be kept below deck again but it would be better than when they were first brought to the island anyway.

“Bet Harry’ll be excited to see you.” Greg chuckled beside him in a feeble attempt to end the silence.

“If she even noticed I was gone.” John replied well naturedly.

They shared a laugh neither actually believed was genuine but it kept them from looking back.

 

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the window, letting out a breath that fogged up the glass. Behind him he could hear Mycroft sipping his tea, appearing calm and completely collected.

In the slight reflection he could see his brothers bitter expression. For once he didn’t voice the cruel jokes that came to mind. It was strange for Mycroft to even be here but Sherlock didn’t question it.

After cleaning John off he’d come here to find Mycroft sitting by the fire petting Olivia and nibbling at one of Mrs. Hudsons cakes.

“It’s for the best, Sherlock.”

Closing his eyes tightly Sherlock gave a sharp nod, pressing his forehead harder into the glass. “I know, Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish reading all of that? I really really hope you liked it. Remember, it's just part 1. There will be more to come.
> 
> Comments? If you don't mind. I would love to hear what you think. Thank you so much. Seriously, if you lot hadn't been so kind I don't know if I could have kept this going.
> 
> Here's my Tumblr if you ever have questions, comments, a prompt, or just want to tell me to hurry the fuck up in writing something: http://chicka-chicka-meowmeow.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Did you finish this? Awesome. You're awesome. Coolio. Please please please leave something(comment/kudos, I'm not picky. If you like it but think it's not kudos worthy yet tell me so that I may improve).
> 
> Here's my Tumblr: http://chicka-chicka-meowmeow.tumblr.com/ If you'd rather leave a criticism anon style or something.


End file.
